One Thought In A Million: Opening Weekend

I can't believe the first weekend of "The Dining Room" performances is over! Overall, opening weekend was spectacular.

Opening night: so much energy! I could hardly focus on the last bit of homework I had to do before heading down to Mayers Auditorium to get ready for the special outdoor show in the library courtyard. I popped into my friends' Bible study (that I'm usually a part of, but not last Thursday!) and they all prayed over me and for the show. When I walked into Mayers a short while later, the first thing Megan and I did when we saw each other was start screaming with excitement.

Most of the call time was taken up by transporting props, sets and other set-up stuff from the auditorium to the courtyard, and then setting everything up once it got there. Things were going smoothly, and the excitement was building. About half an hour before the audience was to begin milling in, we gathered to run through a couple of scenes, just to make sure we knew how to work with our considerably smaller stage. Backstage (that is, behind a black curtain on the side of the stage) I looked across the way at Jonny. He made a ninja pose, and I moved to do the same; not paying attention, I moved my foot and knocked over one of the prop wine glasses, snapping the head clean from the stem.

For a few minutes, people slightly freaked out, and I felt absolutely horrible. James, the stage manager, was wonderful about it, though; after we had sorted everything out he came to ask if I was OK, and to assure me that these things happen, and that everyone was more upset that the glass had broken than that I had broken it. I admitted that I had been messing around, but he was unphased. "It's not your fault that you weren't thinking about where you moved your foot," he said. It's interesting that I remember so much about this one little bad thing that happened on an otherwise great, great night; it really resonates with me how gracious everyone was in spite of my carelessness. I am increasingly thankful for the people I have been fortunate enough to work with in this play; everyone is not only extremely talented and hard-working, but loving, and genuine, and in this case, calm and bracing.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch. Someone said it was the former director's motto that there always has to be a minor crisis before the show, so maybe the broken wine glass was our bit of good luck. Every scene felt the best it had so far, and the audience was great. It wasn't a huge crowd, which was good, because if the courtyard was full not everyone would have been able to hear or see us. They laughed a lot, and it made me realize how funny this play actually is, in spite of the serious elements that accompany almost every scene. It's certainly not a comedy, but almost every scene in Act I got laughs. I think I like the humor almost better than a comedy, because it's juxtaposed with solemnity, and intermixed within the problems and happenings of the characters' lives. Life is not a comedy, but life has funny moments, and I think that's sort of how "The Dining Room" is funny. Things are certainly funnier when you're not trying to be funny, but when they just happen, and that's how humor comes out in the play: the characters are just being themselves, which happens to be quirky and funny sometimes.

Nick and I have several scenes together, one of which we refer to simply as "Jim and Meg". It's a scene between an older father and his thirty-ish daughter, and overall it's very complex and sad. There is a lot of tension between our characters; the scene finds the daughter confessing all of her problems to her father, and then practically begging him to let her come home and try to start over. From the beginning we've both been challenged by it, but after Thursday night we both agreed that it had felt like our best performance yet.

I could write on and on about Jim and Meg; I've spent a lot of time thinking about that scene, and it's really come to feel like the climax of the show for me. It is my last significant scene, but it's by far been my most challenging. I want Meg to seem genuine, but not overdone or simply shocking in her (somewhat shocking) confessions. I really empathize with her feelings of confusion and failure and hopelessness, and I think everyone can. At the same time, Jim cannot be pegged as the "bad guy", the cold, distant father. He is more complex than that; I think a large part of the tension between the two is that he, for a good part of the scene, simply can't understand that his daughter's life is as messy as it sounds. He keeps pushing simple solutions on her, but it takes a while for him to see that hers are not simple problems, or simple feelings.

Life is not simple, or as simple as it used to be. That idea, I think, can be applied more broadly to the entire play. "These are different times", is how one character puts it. Humans are always changing, moving forward; that's life. And sometimes we can't start over, but we can always move forward, in the best way that we can.

And so it begins!

I have to get ready for our second performance, but I wanted to jot down the snapshots I remember from our ABSOLUTELY AMAZING opening night last night!

- Texting Jonny to tell him how excited I was, and laughing at his response: "Hellsyeah! Shark bait, ooh ha ha!"
- Carrying props/sets/furniture/bags from Mayers into the library courtyard, roughly three hours before curtain.
- Screaming with excitement with Megan, and scaring James because he thought the set was falling over on us.
- Running to get AAA batteries from the bookstore, and jumping up and down with excitement when I ran into some friends in the coffee shop.
- Making innuendos with Chelsea as she tried to pin my skirt after saying, "This might sound weird, but I'm going in under your skirt."
- Breaking one of the wineglasses not an hour before we were supposed to start, feeling terrible, then feeling bolstered by how kind everyone was about it.
- Doing vocal warmups with the cast before the audience came in, and laughing about how we were likely bothering/scaring the students trying to study in the library.
- Julia praying over us, thanking God for this opportunity to create art.
- Peter popping backstage during intermission to say, "I know I'm breaking rules, but I love you all!"
- Jim and Meg: the best yet.
- Trying not to laugh during the Standish scene, which is easily the funniest scene of the whole play.
- Feeling very awkward after our bows, as we walked off stage and past everyone at their tables.
- One awesome, huge group hug with Julia when it was all over.
- More hugs from everyone who came, Gregory people, Magician's nephew people.

A Family Affair

Tonight is our last dress rehearsal before we open tomorrow!

Julia said something last night that I though was great, and really true. We gathered together as a cast, in full dress for the first time, and did some calming stretches and breathing together. Then we formed a tight circle, so tight that we were each touching the people on either side of us. Julia told us to take three deep breaths together, and then she told us to stay focused. In her calm voice, she said that when we are onstage we need to remember to be focused, to love and enjoy the people we're with onstage, and to have fun.

"That's how I think we can worship God through theatre," she said, "by enjoying the bodies he has given us, and the people he has given us."

I am excited and sad for the show to open. Excited, because rehearsals have gone so well, and this is the climax of all we have been working toward for the past two months. Sad, because this is the beginning of the end of one of my best experiences here at Biola. As I said before, I've grown in confidence and in eagerness to learn and explore and experiment with my body and my mind and my creative faculties. And I've grown to truly love all of the people I've worked with in "The Dining Room". I love that the cast is so small; big ensembles are fun, but the fact that there's only six of us makes the sense of comradery even stronger. No one is a minor character, we are all leads, and we are all vital.

This play is so centered around families and relationships, it's only fitting that the cast and crew have begun to feel like a family, in a way. I don't know what I'll do with myself when I don't have rehearsal every night.

To Be Surprised

"Do something that reminds you of the goodness of God."

This was a possible pull question for our reading on Calvin. I didn't do it as an assignment, but I had it in mind when I went to rehearsal yesterday. Being in this play has definitely been a reminder of God's goodness.

I feel I have grown in so many ways.

Relationally: I've made friends that I otherwise never would have known and probably never have met. And there's something about working, thinking, and playing hard together that provides a strong bond between humans. That's something I've really grown to appreciate about the Torrey program as a whole; I read and study and discuss and eat and socialize and relax and now I exercise my mind, body and creative side with these same people. I feel very well-rounded.

Personally: The play has given me greater confidence. There is something so freeing about not feeling like I have to do or act any certain way. For the first few weeks of rehearsals, we worked on breaking down those self-imposed boundaries, in numerous ways. Of course, we are working within a framework of the director's, well, direction, and now within the framework of our characters and scenes, but inside of that we are free to feel free, and that is where actors can create. Something Julia is constantly telling us is that we should do what feels natural (within that framework). I've carried that sentiment with me into my day-to-day life; I still have awkward moments and social faux pas, but I feel less controlled by what others think, or what I think others think.

Creatively: I've experienced theatre this semester in ways that I never have before. In high school, theatre was fun, but I never really delved into it like I have with "The Dining Room". I've learned that it is a transforming experience, one that doesn't start with memorizing lines or having the right props; those things come toward the end. As an actor, I must begin with myself, learning to be free with my body, my voice, my mind. It's learning about that freedom I was talking about, and learning to be aware of the feelings and energy that drive me and that drive my cast members. With the performances drawing near, I'm interested to see how things change when we have the audience's energy, too. It makes a huge difference, and it's something I think is fascinating and wonderful about theatre; every performance is different, depending on how the actors feel and the choices they make, and also depending upon the audience's energy and reactions. As performers, we are not only interacting with each other on stage, but we have been doing all of this work to prepare to give something to the audience, and to interact with them as well.

In a way, it feels hard to pinpoint exactly what I've learned, or exactly what has happened in the process of this play. But in a way, that's kind of how theatre, and art, seems to be. I know there are specific things about my characters and about this play that I see and want to convey to the audience, but just like anything that is human, it is ever-changing, ever-growing. In rehearsals, Julia tells us to surprise ourselves, with our movements and choices. Never be rehearsed, never be old, never be dull. That's what's so great about theatre; because it's never the same, for anyone involved, you never know what will surprise you.

Back to God's goodness: theatre, for me, is an example and an outlet to explore the multi-faceted aspects of humanity. I praise God that he has made us diverse creatures, with diverse talents and interests. I can't pin down one thing about this play, or this experience, that is the meaning or purpose or goal. And I can't pin down one thing in any person that is them; humans are like sponges, full of experiences and feelings and things that shape them into who they are, and they are constantly being shaped into something a little bit different than what they were before. You can't pin a human to a wall, and say, "This is it. That is you, and that is all you are." God has created us as much more complex than that, and I think that is beautiful. I love that I am fascinated by many things, and that there is no end of interesting things to do and explore and observe in this life.

God is creative, and I am so, so thankful that he has made us creative, too. There is something in all of us, I believe, that has to get out; we have to be seen, we have to make something, we have to do something. "Creative" does not simply refer to the arts. Humans create new ways to think about math; humans create families; humans create systems. To create, for humans, seems only natural, and I thank God that he has given me, and those around me, the ability and desire to be more than walking hunks of flesh. We are minds, we are souls, and we have to explore. To create. To understand. To feel. To live.

My mentor, Dr. Vincent, wants me to write a short reflection about my experience in the play as a way to do some kind of writing work since I'm not writing a paper this semester. I haven't really thought about what I'm going to do, except that I want to write something and then produce it in the form of a podcast, This American Life style; Dr. Vincent and I talked about this because I have an interest in journalism.

I was talking to Jordan about it earlier, and he suggested mapping out a story. He's done several podcasts in the past, and has found that if you're going for the style of TAL then you need to have a plot and a steady narrative with a story arc in order to keep it interesting. I just need to sit down and think and write about it for a little bit, to hammer out what direction I want to take, what points I want to make, what exactly I want to say, etc.

Off the top of my head, I think I'd like to talk about how I believe that theatre is a wonderful outlet for human creativity. I heard an English professor speak in chapel the other day, and she was talking about how every human life is composed of many stories, many plot points, and, like any work of good literature, is complex; there is not just one message, or one idea being conveyed, but life is composed of variety, in emotion and in experience. Something she said that really resonated with me was that good literature should convey some kind of truth about humanity; that's what I love about theatre. There is something so unique about human beings using their minds and their bodies to convey messages about the reality of the human experience in real space and in real time.

As we close in on the actual performances, I'll be interested to see how the experience changes when we have an audience to convey these messages to. I've been in several plays before, but I've never considered it as a thought project, like I am with "The Dining Room". How do things change when we are not working only with each other's energy, but with the energy of the audience? The whole point of theatre is to perform, so what is there to be learned from the performance that's impossible to do or see without an audience? Obviously, there doesn't seem to be much point in crafting a message to convey if you never have anyone to convey it to. But what am I trying to convey? What is A.R. Gurney trying to convey?

What if we want to have people over, for cheesecake?

That's one of the lines from the play, post-censoring. "The Dining Room" has a significant amount of cursing in it, and since we are Christian students performing at a Christian school, it was decided that we should just leave the cursing out. Our director, Julia, met with Dr. Reynolds, the head of the Torrey program, and also with Dr. Todd Lewis, the chair of the Communications department, which contains the only other real theatre presence here at Biola (we don't have a theatre major or department, only a track within the Comm department.) Apparently part of the Biola theatre policy is "no cursing", and the issue had been a little bit on the fence anyway; it really doesn't detract much from the play to have it out.

Anyway, one of the lines in one of the scenes belongs to a husband, arguing with his wife about using the dining room table to work on her master's thesis; she insists that they never use the space and she can work better in there, and he counters with, "What if we want to have people over, for Chrissake?" During the first read-through of the play, I thought the word actually was, "cheesecake". We were trying for options of how to censor the word, and I threw out "cheesecake" as a joke, but it's ended up sticking. It certainly makes the line, and the character, a lot funnier, and so far every time it's been said while rehearsing that scene, there's always someone who can't keep a straight face.

Rehearsal tonight was SO MUCH FUN. I was excited for it all day; we were going to work on a scene I've been really, well, excited about. The whole cast (all six members) is in the scene, which makes it fun, and the scene itself is just plain fun. It's a child's birthday, and four of the performers are playing children about four or five years old. To start rehearsal, Julia put on some music and had us run around on stage as if we were five year olds. You can imagine how that played out; lots of running and pushing and twirling and hiding and jumping and yelling. And lots of fun.

Then, we did that again, except me and one other actor, Nick (who is a junior here at Biola and in the Torrey program) were not children; we were the adults. In the actual scene, that's how it is; four actors are the children, and Nick and I are the adults. I am the mother of the girl whose birthday it is, and he is the father of one of the boys attending. Trying to be adults while everyone else is running around being an insane child is very difficult; it was hard to keep things under control, including my own laughter.

Working on the scene itself was really, really great. When the children swell (or explode) into their talking and laughing and chanting for ice cream while Nick and I ("the adults") are trying to have a separate conversation was a challenge; Julia wants the kids to keep their energy, but that means Nick and I have to overcome that energy. Practically, at some points it was just a matter of hearing the lines and everyone's cues.

I really love this scene. I was talking with Johnny (one of the actors and the assistant director) about it after rehearsal, and he said something that I think is really dead-on; this scene embodies what so much of "The Dining Room" is as a whole. Let me explain. The basics of the scene are these: I ("Peggy") and Nick ("Ted") are both married, with kids, probably in their thirties (I think the script describes Peggy as "youngish").

When Nick enters, we soon learn that there is some kind of mutual attraction between them, although nothing has been acted on. Peggy's husband is distant and apathetic, and Ted's wife is probably more concerned with appearances of a good marriage than an actually good marriage. Ted's wife knows "about us", as Ted puts it, and she's threatening to "make everything messy." As they try to pull away from the distraction of the kids for a moment, Peggy and Ted discuss their options, although it's more like wishful thinking. In the space of a few lines, the audience sees (or at least, I hope they will see) something really sweet between them; cute, even. They're certainly a likable couple, but in the end, they aren't a couple. They never can be. And this is the realization I think they come to, especially when reminded of the reality of their children, and their responsibilities. I find something gently heartbreaking about it all; they can't abandon their children, who are just as sweet and lovable, and so they must abandon themselves and, partly, their happiness.

That's why I agree with Johnny when he says that this scene is a sort of microchasm for the entire play. On the surface, the characters are funny and maybe a little flippant; it's easy to laugh at and with them. Yet as the play progresses, and as each scene progresses in itself, we delve deeper into the reality of these people's lives, and there is much pain and sadness and loss that isn't evident on the surface. In way, I think every individual is like this. When you're just scratching the surface of someone, things aren't so serious; there is small talk and casual jokes and light conversation. But the deeper you dig, the more you find; there is a good amount of joy, but probably an equal amount of grief and pain, and all of these things shape us into who we are. Humans are like sponges, constantly absorbing experiences, feelings, ideas, that build into that ever-changing person we are always becoming.

In some ways, I haven't quite put my finger on exactly what I love about "The Dining Room". But I do love that it's about being real.

Real People, Real Spaces: The Art of Morphing

I love "The Dining Room"!

Rehearsals are going SO well. The directors are wonderful, the cast is great, and everyone works wonderfully together. I am very, very excited for this show, and so thankful to be a part of it.

At one of our earlier rehearsals, Julia, our director, asked us to read through the entire script, and ask ourselves, what is the essence of this play? There are a lot of sweet, funny moments in this play, but there are also a lot of bleak, desperate moments that find people in sad situations, and sometimes at the end of their rope. As Julia said, one could walk away from this play and say, "Wow, that was a really depressing play about a lot of unhappy people." Why is it not that? How is this (potentially controversial) play justifiable?

I'm really falling in love with "The Dining Room". One reason is that I believe while many of the characters in this play are caught in moments of desperation, or shame, or weakness, they are just utterly, utterly real. When we discussed it together at rehearsal, we agreed that if someone judged this play, and these characters, solely by the brief spaces of time in which they appear onstage, that would be a mistake. These people are purely human, and we all have moments like these, moments that we cherish, moments that we fear, moments that we wish we could forget. I ask the audience not to think only about what they see, but what the don't see; how has this person come to this place in their life? What has happened to them to make them who they are, in this moment? I feel it's almost like reading a few pages from the middle of someone's diary. It can reveal a lot about who they are, but it's not all of who they are.

Another thing that I love about this play is that everything happens in the same space - the dining room. The people change, the times change, characters and families and problems shuffle in and out of this single space. I've found those stationary spaces of our lives intriguing for some time now. Think of the house you grew up in, or your childhood bedroom, or even your car. These place, these spaces, remain virtually the same, but there's something about us that changes them; they absorb our energy, our emotions, our memories, until we can't enter into them without entering into a part of ourselves. The dining room is such a perfect room for that; it has so many roles for so many people. A place to eat, a place to study, a place to gather, a place to feel safe. Every time one of us enters that dining room, in whichever of our several characters, we change it, so that while the set and props may remain the same, the space itself, just like our characters, is constantly changing. As actors, we must morph to fit our characters; when we do, the room, and everything it represents, morphs with us.