We met this morning at 9, unaware of what was in store for us.
Halfway through our seven-hour drive up to Niagara Falls, NY (that's right), we got a phone call from Jen at the office, asking us if we would be free to do a show in the first week of June. It's technically outside of our contract dates, so we have to okay any extra performances. But it seemed odd that they would ask. Turns out, the group that booked us in New York had arranged for people to attend the show on a different day, and in an attempt to accommodate them, the office was trying to reschedule other bookings.
Hence, a show day in June.
And now our NY performance has been bumped back a day, giving us tomorrow--the whole day--to ourselves, actors without a show for twenty-four hours in Niagara Falls. We'll be back Thursday!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Reds
Began Friday with a morning show at a Little Red Schoolhouse. On the call sheet, there was a note saying that the last time ArtReach came to the school, "the cafeteria ceiling was too low for our flats," and that we would have to make do once we got into the space.
Once inside the school, I was shown the cafeteria room by the secretary. I took one look at the ceiling and, sure enough, it was too low to accommodate our set.
I asked if there was another room we could use, and we walked to the end of the building, into one of the teachers' classrooms. We would have to rearrange the room, she said: moving shelves and magazine racks, a pile of dolls in the corner, countless chairs and the tables they surround, a whole line of art projects clipped to a glittering strand spanning the length of the room. It would add, in a most conservative estimate, fifteen minutes to the load-in and the load-out. But the ceiling slanted upwards in a kind of hypotenuse slope to one side of the room, and it was at least high enough for the backdrop.
So we did it. We pulled the van up to a handicapped parking space and opened the fire-escape door. In came the poles and roll for the main backdrop, but the spinning flats would have to stay in the van. Props followed, and then we realized that the bench we keep backstage to rest on between scenes and the entire sound system would not fit into the two feet of space from the back of the drop to the wall. So we asked if the teacher had a small CD-player we could use to play music, and she did; a bit hastily, we learned how to pause an skip the tracks on the football-sized player, whose volume knob we cranked all the way up.
We also had to pull the shades on the windows backstage. I have to change from a bunny into a turtle during the show, and no parents dropping off children need to see a torso of green spandex in a classroom window. Really, no one needs that.
Children came in with teachers, and they crammed into the tiny room with our abbreviated set. The shelves and stacked chairs pushed them forward, shrinking their space even more.
But we did it, and they loved the show. We found out later that as soon as we left, they booked ArtReach for next year.
This is a perfect example of how our group works with the school to accomplish the most successful show possible, given any circumstance. Here we were, without two-thirds of our set, in a space one-half the size we normally use, dancing in our first number two feet away from the front row of children--and yet we pulled it off.
Thank you, Little Red Schoolhouse. We'll see you next year!
--
After, we drove to Russellville, OH, to perform Town Mouse, Country Mouse for the second time that day.
We found out at the school that they were planning to dismiss forty-five minutes after we started the show. Since it normally runs about fifty minutes, we foresaw the obvious problem.
So we bumped the start time up twenty minutes. It would give them enough leeway to get the children out of the gym and onto the buses. Good thing we arrived half an hour earlier than we needed to be there--kudos to Robbie--or else we would have had either to cut the show short (bad) or figure out how to weed out ten minutes of material (also bad).
But again, by working with the administrators, we pulled it off, to heralds and acclaim.
--
That night, we were invited to watch the Reds play the St. Louis Cardinals. The Children's Theatre office staff and their families were also there, and it was a great time: unlimited concessions, including lobster-and-rice dishes alongside the expected hot dogs and burgers; an exciting square-off between two great mid-America teams; and post-game fireworks.
The Reds won. We all went home happy.
Once inside the school, I was shown the cafeteria room by the secretary. I took one look at the ceiling and, sure enough, it was too low to accommodate our set.
I asked if there was another room we could use, and we walked to the end of the building, into one of the teachers' classrooms. We would have to rearrange the room, she said: moving shelves and magazine racks, a pile of dolls in the corner, countless chairs and the tables they surround, a whole line of art projects clipped to a glittering strand spanning the length of the room. It would add, in a most conservative estimate, fifteen minutes to the load-in and the load-out. But the ceiling slanted upwards in a kind of hypotenuse slope to one side of the room, and it was at least high enough for the backdrop.
So we did it. We pulled the van up to a handicapped parking space and opened the fire-escape door. In came the poles and roll for the main backdrop, but the spinning flats would have to stay in the van. Props followed, and then we realized that the bench we keep backstage to rest on between scenes and the entire sound system would not fit into the two feet of space from the back of the drop to the wall. So we asked if the teacher had a small CD-player we could use to play music, and she did; a bit hastily, we learned how to pause an skip the tracks on the football-sized player, whose volume knob we cranked all the way up.
We also had to pull the shades on the windows backstage. I have to change from a bunny into a turtle during the show, and no parents dropping off children need to see a torso of green spandex in a classroom window. Really, no one needs that.
Children came in with teachers, and they crammed into the tiny room with our abbreviated set. The shelves and stacked chairs pushed them forward, shrinking their space even more.
But we did it, and they loved the show. We found out later that as soon as we left, they booked ArtReach for next year.
This is a perfect example of how our group works with the school to accomplish the most successful show possible, given any circumstance. Here we were, without two-thirds of our set, in a space one-half the size we normally use, dancing in our first number two feet away from the front row of children--and yet we pulled it off.
Thank you, Little Red Schoolhouse. We'll see you next year!
--
After, we drove to Russellville, OH, to perform Town Mouse, Country Mouse for the second time that day.
We found out at the school that they were planning to dismiss forty-five minutes after we started the show. Since it normally runs about fifty minutes, we foresaw the obvious problem.
So we bumped the start time up twenty minutes. It would give them enough leeway to get the children out of the gym and onto the buses. Good thing we arrived half an hour earlier than we needed to be there--kudos to Robbie--or else we would have had either to cut the show short (bad) or figure out how to weed out ten minutes of material (also bad).
But again, by working with the administrators, we pulled it off, to heralds and acclaim.
--
That night, we were invited to watch the Reds play the St. Louis Cardinals. The Children's Theatre office staff and their families were also there, and it was a great time: unlimited concessions, including lobster-and-rice dishes alongside the expected hot dogs and burgers; an exciting square-off between two great mid-America teams; and post-game fireworks.
The Reds won. We all went home happy.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Taft
Today was a day of firsts and lasts.
It was the last day for Teresa and I to perform at the Taft Museum of Art. It was the first time for Robbie and Caitlin. We (Teresa and I) have met with Anne a total of five times now, performing each show twice, with the exception of Tom Sawyer.
They always serve us tea when we go there. It comes out on a wide, brown, oval-shaped tray, with an assortment of choices: Earl and Lady Grey, Plantation Mint, Lemon, etc. I think it might be the only venue we play that actually serves us a variety of tea.
The University of Miami-Middletown also serves us tea, now that I think about it.
In any case, we will miss the Taft's staff, Anne, the tea, the chill atmosphere mixed with the cozy luxury of a museum, and everything else--all of it.
--
That's not to say that it's all downhill from here. Far from it, actually. This week, we begin by heading back up to Springfield for the last show in association with the Springfield Arts Council. We have done every show for them, too.
It's always nice to go back to familiar schools, to meet with familiar faces. The perks are varied. Everything from knowing which driveway to enter and which door to find, to remembering where wall outlets are, to anticipating water bottles (or Styrofoam cups of tea), all combine to make our jobs a little easier.
It is nostalgia mixed with convenience, really: The past informs the present.
--
According to Caitlin, we have twenty-nine performances remaining. The countdown is surely sad for some of us, exciting for others, but it is surely not happy. Whether it's the prospect of a hasty job search or just the transition of moving on, we all feel a sense of loss and also of gain, as if we are all on the same bus, but headed to different places. Each mile past is a mile gone, a mile accomplished.
There are two sides to every coin.
It was the last day for Teresa and I to perform at the Taft Museum of Art. It was the first time for Robbie and Caitlin. We (Teresa and I) have met with Anne a total of five times now, performing each show twice, with the exception of Tom Sawyer.
They always serve us tea when we go there. It comes out on a wide, brown, oval-shaped tray, with an assortment of choices: Earl and Lady Grey, Plantation Mint, Lemon, etc. I think it might be the only venue we play that actually serves us a variety of tea.
The University of Miami-Middletown also serves us tea, now that I think about it.
In any case, we will miss the Taft's staff, Anne, the tea, the chill atmosphere mixed with the cozy luxury of a museum, and everything else--all of it.
--
That's not to say that it's all downhill from here. Far from it, actually. This week, we begin by heading back up to Springfield for the last show in association with the Springfield Arts Council. We have done every show for them, too.
It's always nice to go back to familiar schools, to meet with familiar faces. The perks are varied. Everything from knowing which driveway to enter and which door to find, to remembering where wall outlets are, to anticipating water bottles (or Styrofoam cups of tea), all combine to make our jobs a little easier.
It is nostalgia mixed with convenience, really: The past informs the present.
--
According to Caitlin, we have twenty-nine performances remaining. The countdown is surely sad for some of us, exciting for others, but it is surely not happy. Whether it's the prospect of a hasty job search or just the transition of moving on, we all feel a sense of loss and also of gain, as if we are all on the same bus, but headed to different places. Each mile past is a mile gone, a mile accomplished.
There are two sides to every coin.
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