Five months ago, in a warehouse on the edge of town, I sat on a pew facing a piano. I found myself thirsty, having arrived here with my audition accomplice but not a drop of water between us. The arrangement was simple, my accomplice assured me: show up, say 'I'm interested in participating in the show RENT', at best receive my homeless-person-4b assignment, but more likely go down in flames and then head on home.
My heart racing, fingers twitching nervously, brain trying to bend physics to pop me out of my sweaty seated existence and send my atoms outside, safe and sound... But it didn’t really work out that way. As fate would have it physics remained intact, and I remained in my seat. I relaxed a little, surely if nature would not grant me this somewhat unreasonable and unnatural request, then I could count on my lack of headshot, audition music, references, experience and general talent to expedite my departure from the audition.
But a surprising thing happened: I was welcomed in.
Staying true to the spirit alive in every corner of this wondrous land, I found a community of people open. Inviting. From teachers to students, baristas to bartenders, cooks and technicians, contractors, tour guides, mothers, daughters, fathers, sons, friends and enemies; everyone here had found a home in the theater.
Rehearsals in small spaces, under staircases, lighting imaginary candles, which would one day reflect and burn in the hearts of many. Singing in empty rooms, listening to a nervous voice crack and reverberate across the studio floor. But at every turn, my fear of failure was met with friendship, with deep breaths and knowing smiles, with a glow that shone on everyone in proximity, even in our dark hours. The cast, directors and band, flexed and morphed, everyday evolving into something new and fascinating.
The group around me ran the range: some seasoned veterans, some taking on new responsibilities and, others with a familiar trajectory stepping out onto the stage for the first time. Yet despite our differences we all began the process of learning lines, getting comfortable and starting to sprout together. Days blurred into weeks, and with practice we all found our voices. It became so fluid that at times it was hard to tell where a character ended and a person began. This line between imagined story and actual experience was one that I tangled with regularly, occasionally throwing up my arms and surrendering to a declaration of “...must be musical-theater magic”.
As rehearsals progressed, the sky began to lighten, evenings walking out of the Dance Theater Fairbanks were met more and more with sunlight, signaling the upcoming move to the West Valley High School; the space that would house our family for a short but intense period. As we drew close to load-in the excitement was palpable, thick, yet a tension was building. Installing and erecting the set was a sight to behold. An incredible multi-level design, excellent lighting, textures, sight-lines, well thought-out, engineered, and expertly carried out. In my experience, in both family projects and in the architecture profession, there are few things so all-consuming as construction. This absorption is ideal when you are struggling to lower your blood pressure and pull your mind away from the impending doom that is you singing-on-stage for the first time.
Time distorted. Months of three-a-week rehearsals, hundreds of hours of reading and memorizing, plucking away at a piano, compressed into the blink of an eye. Moments spent dangling from scaffolding, while a wall section was slowly hoisted into place, stretched on into eternity. Joining these talented voices, and able hands to erect and assemble our stage, our set, our HOME, consumed me. From rotations painting bricks during rehearsal to hands on screw guns and brooms alike, I hadn’t felt this united and close to any group before.
The Thursday before opening night the hammer finally dropped. Quite literally. Kurt exercised his directorial dictatorship and made me put the tools down. And I was plunged back into the land of “how did I get here”(s) and “greeeeeat... fuck!”(s)
I drew in a breath that would last three days.
No matter how much you prep mentally, those first seconds when you hear your voice resonate outside your body, amplified by electrons and magnets, is a bizarre and disorientating experience; one which aggressively causes a knee-jerk ‘flight’ reaction in me. At that first performance, had I a tail, you could consider it tucked. By the time ‘Places for act one’ was called, kneeled before my barf pail at stage right, I contemplated making a run for the hills. Bright lights dissolved temporary fears. Blocking replaced shakiness. Memorization and practice spread like a safety net.
The first weekend was a hot fire, shaping everyone, ironing out wrinkles, and forging the base of what was to come. Between moments of panic I looked up to see a cast unfold its wings. Saw it stretch out across a backdrop of very real and evolving emotion, and relax into exquisite verve and detail. Behind heavy curtains blossomed voices and cues. Props sprouted on walls and tables while tape marks directed traffic. Senses you didn’t know existed, surfaced and were honed. You learned to navigate without the visual clues, to hear a smile in the passing dark, detect tension in a vibrating air, and to clear the soupy awkwardness of a missed line or cue.
The set continued to gather our fingerprints and to be shaped by the desire lines of our feet. Events surrounded the performances - existing within the story, and out in the margins. Dancing in dark wings; Grinning across set pieces; Playing air instruments while soaking in the sound of a professional and incredible band playing mere feet away then watching it propel action on stage; Jokes in dressing rooms; Romance in back hallways; celebratory hugs in relief for lines remembered; Backs cracked; High fives slapped; Falls caught.
The action behind the action is a story upon itself, often rivaling the activity happening on stage. So many people come and see only what is presented, eyes never cast behind black flats or beyond foam bricks.
This is where realizations began for me. At first in small bursts, freed time to contemplate between lines, a phrase or a conversation in the show linking up with a scene experienced in real life. Little things harmonizing, inflections, attitudes, tones, the way a hand was clasped, an upturned eyebrow, a turned cheek...
And then something big happened. In the ramp up into the second weekend, on a Thursday night, the audience transformed. I’m not sure if it was the energy in the air, or a few organic occurrences, but something shifted. No longer were they antagonists, auditors or bearers of judgement, whose rulings in silence, laughter, applause or moos sentenced your fate. No, they became allies. Empathetic extensions of a story unfurling. Those wanting to watch an experience portrayed by others, to dip into the waters of remembrance, feel it soak into their own lives, and filter through their own emotions. People that have survived the passing of friends, family and lovers. Seasoned hearts and newly opened ones
This is what happened.
Each night “we begin…” Friends united, new relationships bloomed, old ones rekindled, homeless swore, middle fingers flew, squeegies wiped, change clinked in cups, cameras clicked, butts were slapped, kisses stolen, dances dropped, hips thrust, tears wiped, hands gripped, fists clenched, eyes closed, heels broke, lines ran and applause echoed on into silence.
Quiet battles were fought in apartments and wars waged in cafes, struggles between ideals and love. And each night mortality surfaced, sometimes invited other times forced. Friendships faltered, relationships weathered. Personalities grinding against and polishing one another. Coarse and smooth on raw material.
...and then loss.
Tom knew this risk and lived with it, thriving where others would falter. Roger usurped his chance, leaving love out of fear. In a twist of fate he was granted one last chance, one final song, and the opportunity to share where he’d previously been repressed. We all have this chance. Every day. To connect. To express. To either push one another away and risk loss without resolution. Or to embrace. To pull close those in need, and those that stand to compromise you in life or love. This gift isn’t to be taken or carried lightly.
Larson lit a candle so many years ago in writing RENT. One whose light continues to race outward expanding into a dark universe, connecting lives in the farthest corners of the map. This light, in dim auditoriums and theaters, fuels a fire illuminating minds and hearts; it glows on a stage speckled in faces, polished in love, soaked in tears, and warmed in hope. The ideas, music, emotions born and resonated here are part of what I see as a vast tapestry - one which I have been grateful to play some small part in weaving; a stitch at once connected and supported by so many others.
I consider myself to be among the luckiest, as should everyone, to be here. Alive. Growing. I’ll carry this idea to the ends of the earth and my time. We’re gifted in having another day to express love and appreciation. To share all that we can. No day but today. A mentality that once in your heart opens up a world of a rich color, vibrant sound and unfaltering love.
With more words and emotions than language can hope to capture, my heart goes out to all
Corey
