From Hillary, boom Assistant to the Director/Casting Intern
I have the best seat at the house. Back of the main floor, house right. Tech day 2.
Our director is behind me discussing looks with the lighting designer. In the center section, our sound designer is adjusting cues on a computer that somehow connects him with our sound operator in the booth. Down front, our costume designer is talking about some potential changes with her assistant. It’s awesome that I get such a sneak peak as this show’s design team gets boom up on its feet.
But the best view I have is over our stage manager Elisabeth Farwell’s shoulder. I see her script, filled with notes about blocking (where actors move when). I see the funny-looking machine that connects to her headset. While I can’t hear what comes in through her headset, I know she is connected to our deck hand (a crew member who is in charge of moving scenery, props and curtains), our stage management intern (who helps keep up paperwork and round up the actors), the lighting designer, the sound designer, the light-board operator and the sound operator.
That’s a lot of voices to be talking to one ear (I mean that quite literally—her headset covers one of her ears, leaving the other free to hear what’s going on in the room).
Our stage manager is now coordinating what is going on backstage, onstage, and in the booths. By “in the booths,” I mean the cues that the light-board operator executes (i.e. any light changes) and that the sound operator executes (i.e. any pre-recorded sound). It’s amazing to hear her call a sequence of cues- she feels out when the moment is just right (usually a breath or two before we actually want to see/hear the sequence) and then she’s off! It’s a beautiful and amazing thing to listen to: If character and story are one motor of the show, our stage manager is definitely the other.
Showing posts with label tech rehearsal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tech rehearsal. Show all posts
10,984 steps
|
Labels:
production management,
tech rehearsal,
The Three Musketeers
From Verhanika, Production Management Intern
I have run up and down stairs more this last week that ever in my life. I recently started wearing a pedometer to see actually how many steps I take in a day to run various errands for various departments.
From the perspective of a production management intern, tech (i.e. technical rehearsal) is one of the most exhilarating times of the play-creation process. This is when all of the energy from my land of Production Management—arranging contracts, taking production meeting notes, facilitating the Assistant Production Manager and Production Manager's needs—comes together. We all hope the cosmic forces align and tech goes off without a hitch, but a few bumps are always expected—and necessary—for the learning process.
Before tech started, Diane (the Assistant Production Manager) and I had a conversation about what to expect, what is expected of me and how I should split my attention. She told me that if I have the choice of sitting in Night Watcher tech or Three Musketeers, to always always always pick Three Musketeers. It's just such a bigger production, and she said I would learn more.
She couldn't have been more right. Did she send me there with the intention of learning about theatre? People? People in theatre? Yes, yes, yes.
Three Musketeers has 22 fight scenes in it and a huge number of scenic elements that fly in and out and travel on tracks. Because of the number of things that have to be rehearsed, everyone in the building wants to ensure the safety of the cast and crew in this show. As a result, all the interns are learning a great deal: from how to determine if or when you should or should not offer help, to when to let your particular supervisor have some personal time on their laptop, to what outfit is more appropriate for what tech day (a 10-hour day: yoga pants and T-shirts, first day back after a break, jeans and professional looking tops).
We've also learned that we have a very good-natured, patient cast. If they were any less jovial and fun-loving, tech rehearsals could have been a chore rather than an adventure.
We're not done yet—we're in previews all this week, fine tuning and preparing for the official opening night on Friday. I am sure the learning and walking will continue at a fervent pace- I logged 10,984 steps yesterday, approximately 4 1/2 miles.
I have run up and down stairs more this last week that ever in my life. I recently started wearing a pedometer to see actually how many steps I take in a day to run various errands for various departments.
From the perspective of a production management intern, tech (i.e. technical rehearsal) is one of the most exhilarating times of the play-creation process. This is when all of the energy from my land of Production Management—arranging contracts, taking production meeting notes, facilitating the Assistant Production Manager and Production Manager's needs—comes together. We all hope the cosmic forces align and tech goes off without a hitch, but a few bumps are always expected—and necessary—for the learning process.
Before tech started, Diane (the Assistant Production Manager) and I had a conversation about what to expect, what is expected of me and how I should split my attention. She told me that if I have the choice of sitting in Night Watcher tech or Three Musketeers, to always always always pick Three Musketeers. It's just such a bigger production, and she said I would learn more.
She couldn't have been more right. Did she send me there with the intention of learning about theatre? People? People in theatre? Yes, yes, yes.
Three Musketeers has 22 fight scenes in it and a huge number of scenic elements that fly in and out and travel on tracks. Because of the number of things that have to be rehearsed, everyone in the building wants to ensure the safety of the cast and crew in this show. As a result, all the interns are learning a great deal: from how to determine if or when you should or should not offer help, to when to let your particular supervisor have some personal time on their laptop, to what outfit is more appropriate for what tech day (a 10-hour day: yoga pants and T-shirts, first day back after a break, jeans and professional looking tops).
We've also learned that we have a very good-natured, patient cast. If they were any less jovial and fun-loving, tech rehearsals could have been a chore rather than an adventure.
We're not done yet—we're in previews all this week, fine tuning and preparing for the official opening night on Friday. I am sure the learning and walking will continue at a fervent pace- I logged 10,984 steps yesterday, approximately 4 1/2 miles.
Rehearsal: An Actor's Blog, First Day of Tech
From actor Marya Sea Kaminski, playing Rachel in My Name is Rachel Corrie.
"I am given to making very important lists."
Rachel.
tech.
daylight savings.
stayed up too late.
anxious.
first day of school.
christmas morning.
dressing room.
tulips.
a turquoise bathrobe.
and a lovely woman named leslie.
two pairs of matching underwear.
two pairs of matching jeans.
two pairs of matching tshirts,
boxers,
tanktops,
long sleeve shirts colored a purplish blue.
set everything in order.
mascara.
powder.
new makeup brushes from rite-aid.
calm nerves.
into olympia.
a bedroom like every bedroom i've ever slept in.
except missing one wall.
and two cats.
energy.
sound.
lights.
nalgene.
paint supplies.
duct tape on the bottom of my feet.
stop and go and stop
and go go go go.
lb at his desk.
pushing buttons and then there was light.
obediah at his computer.
creating rain.
traffic. gunshots that make my heart stop.
kati with her notebook in the third row.
jolene quiet and fastidious in the upper right.
jen making faces at me from the back of the house.
braden speaking gently speaking direct.
like he is starving and finally smells food on the stove.
erica runs the show. a heartbeat in the sixth row.
david on the stairs.
is he always here on sunday?
long dinner break.
i hate taking breaks.
want to go and go and go.
into jerusalem, through khan jounis, finally
violently arrived into rafah.
my boots feel at home on that ground.
steady. even with the rake.
hover on the window ledge while a world
falls down around
the downstage left corner.
i will be able to hear you breathe, i think.
i'll try and pay attention.
the audience is going to be close enough
to smell sweat and smoke and fear.
the day is so long.
but no messages on my voicemail.
this is the everything.
rem.
stand.
the place where i live.
tuesday we'll start on february 7th.
i will have lived in palestine for two weeks.
and one hour.
saved for daylight.
"I am given to making very important lists."
Rachel.
tech.
daylight savings.
stayed up too late.
anxious.
first day of school.
christmas morning.
dressing room.
tulips.
a turquoise bathrobe.
and a lovely woman named leslie.
two pairs of matching underwear.
two pairs of matching jeans.
two pairs of matching tshirts,
boxers,
tanktops,
long sleeve shirts colored a purplish blue.
set everything in order.
mascara.
powder.
new makeup brushes from rite-aid.
calm nerves.
into olympia.
a bedroom like every bedroom i've ever slept in.
except missing one wall.
and two cats.
energy.
sound.
lights.
nalgene.
paint supplies.
duct tape on the bottom of my feet.
stop and go and stop
and go go go go.
lb at his desk.
pushing buttons and then there was light.
obediah at his computer.
creating rain.
traffic. gunshots that make my heart stop.
kati with her notebook in the third row.
jolene quiet and fastidious in the upper right.
jen making faces at me from the back of the house.
braden speaking gently speaking direct.
like he is starving and finally smells food on the stove.
erica runs the show. a heartbeat in the sixth row.
david on the stairs.
is he always here on sunday?
long dinner break.
i hate taking breaks.
want to go and go and go.
into jerusalem, through khan jounis, finally
violently arrived into rafah.
my boots feel at home on that ground.
steady. even with the rake.
hover on the window ledge while a world
falls down around
the downstage left corner.
i will be able to hear you breathe, i think.
i'll try and pay attention.
the audience is going to be close enough
to smell sweat and smoke and fear.
the day is so long.
but no messages on my voicemail.
this is the everything.
rem.
stand.
the place where i live.
tuesday we'll start on february 7th.
i will have lived in palestine for two weeks.
and one hour.
saved for daylight.
Rehearsal: An Actor's Blog, The Eve of Tech
|
Labels:
acting,
Braden Abraham,
Marya Sea Kaminski,
Rachel Corrie,
Seattle theater,
tech rehearsal
From actor Marya Sea Kaminski, playing Rachel in My Name is Rachel Corrie.
Saturday March 10, 2007
The Last Day of Rehearsal,
on the Eve of Tech for MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE
“How’s the play going?”
asks my best friend, across the sticky table ghostlit by the flourescent beer sign. We haven’t seen each other in a week.
Well, it rivals falling in love. You know. There’s always that rush. The adrenaline of finding a role that you’d like to wear and stretch and stitch together, and then there is the dynamite in your stomach of actually getting cast. Of getting the phone call. Of saying thank you, goodbye, and looking around at your new world bursting with vibrant color, possibility, and the intoxication of sudden purpose. That’s what getting cast in MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE was like. Like dynamite exploding in the gut.
And sometimes that’s the best part. Sometimes the victory outshines the prize and you wrestle yourself into the rehearsal room everyday and make grocery lists in your head while you’re on break. Your imagination becomes resentful for all the parties and movies and slow dinners and long naps you could be having if you weren’t committed to living inside this play.
Rehearsing this play has not been that. It has not been the sweet fleet of a crush. It has not been the adventurous resonance of a night on the town. It has been like falling in love. Deep, and difficult, and beautiful in a way you cannot describe to your friends over beers.
For the last three weeks, I have woken up every morning and taken my time. I have eased into the day with the gentlest joy. Unforced, in the way that my day jobs and teaching gigs and endless meetings can sometimes demand the dregs of my energy. I have woken up every day with no wishes to make. I have had no restlessness or arm’s reach dreams of moving to Europe or taking a long vacations or going back to school or re-evaluating the Whys and mapping out the Hows or where I am. I have woken up every morning and prepared to go into the world of this play, eager to soak up all the delight and poetry and maddening curiosity Rachel Corrie used to paint her days.
I am happier than I’ve ever been, getting to know this woman. This girl. Her writing has seeped under my skin and pierced me in places. Her conviction, which somehow feels like a dirty word in this time of Great Apathy, is more fun to attend than any party I’ve every been to. Her politics, which so many people have dismissed as naive or deemed controversial and dangerous, are a dynamic story of calling things like you see them. No more and no less.
My last few weeks have been peppered with all of these press interviews, which have been nerve-wracking and sometimes shallow. The questions dress Rachel up as a hero, a martyr, an innocent victim... The more I get to know Rachel, the more I think she was just a girl. You can scour her writing and never find any desire to be a hero. She wanted to make a difference and she believed that she could. Maybe that’s naive. Maybe that’s heroic. I know that it is uncommon.
Admittedly, Rachel Corrie has become my hero. As an artist. And as a writer. And as a defender of her own spirit, her own light, which she knew was finite and indescribable. I am inspired by the way she followed her gut. Trusted her intuition. Saw a path laid before her and did not look away when that road became very, very dark.
The rehearsals have been dream-like. They have gone very, very fast. I show up in the morning and Braden and I warm-up and then we get to work. I blink and six hours have passed. I always feel like we’re just getting started. Every day I feel like that. Even when the time has gone roughly. Last Thursday, the weight of the text and the noise of all the expectations hit me from behind while I was trying to practice the delicate ballet of the blocking. But even in the rare times I feel like crumpling under the pressure of embodying this extraordinary person in the middle of the place where she grew up, the difficulty has been welcome. Rachel courted difficulty. She seemed to have a knack for looking challenge deep in the eye and painting it sky blue.
We go into tech tomorrow. I am reluctant to leave the rehearsal room. Not because we’re not ready. This play wants an audience. This play wants to be heard and laughed at and fought with. I am reluctant to leave the rehearsal room because it has been a wonder-full time, looking into Rachel’s world and building it from the inside out. It has been an artistic dream come true to meet Braden Abraham every day and devour the work in front of us. It has been an experience of warm sunlight through the window to run lines with our Stage Manager, Erica Schwartz-Hall, and to share small insights on the text and discover the happy secrets that Rachel buried every place she went. It has been a trip around the world to sit with our Dramaturge, Kati Sweeney, and build a clear picture of the sounds of tank shells through concrete and the banter of young children playing soccer in Rafah. It has changed my life, for good, I think, to spend these days with Rachel Corrie.
I will never be the same.
“It’s going really well,” I say to my best friend. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”
Saturday March 10, 2007
The Last Day of Rehearsal,
on the Eve of Tech for MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE
“How’s the play going?”
asks my best friend, across the sticky table ghostlit by the flourescent beer sign. We haven’t seen each other in a week.
Well, it rivals falling in love. You know. There’s always that rush. The adrenaline of finding a role that you’d like to wear and stretch and stitch together, and then there is the dynamite in your stomach of actually getting cast. Of getting the phone call. Of saying thank you, goodbye, and looking around at your new world bursting with vibrant color, possibility, and the intoxication of sudden purpose. That’s what getting cast in MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE was like. Like dynamite exploding in the gut.
And sometimes that’s the best part. Sometimes the victory outshines the prize and you wrestle yourself into the rehearsal room everyday and make grocery lists in your head while you’re on break. Your imagination becomes resentful for all the parties and movies and slow dinners and long naps you could be having if you weren’t committed to living inside this play.
Rehearsing this play has not been that. It has not been the sweet fleet of a crush. It has not been the adventurous resonance of a night on the town. It has been like falling in love. Deep, and difficult, and beautiful in a way you cannot describe to your friends over beers.
For the last three weeks, I have woken up every morning and taken my time. I have eased into the day with the gentlest joy. Unforced, in the way that my day jobs and teaching gigs and endless meetings can sometimes demand the dregs of my energy. I have woken up every day with no wishes to make. I have had no restlessness or arm’s reach dreams of moving to Europe or taking a long vacations or going back to school or re-evaluating the Whys and mapping out the Hows or where I am. I have woken up every morning and prepared to go into the world of this play, eager to soak up all the delight and poetry and maddening curiosity Rachel Corrie used to paint her days.
I am happier than I’ve ever been, getting to know this woman. This girl. Her writing has seeped under my skin and pierced me in places. Her conviction, which somehow feels like a dirty word in this time of Great Apathy, is more fun to attend than any party I’ve every been to. Her politics, which so many people have dismissed as naive or deemed controversial and dangerous, are a dynamic story of calling things like you see them. No more and no less.
My last few weeks have been peppered with all of these press interviews, which have been nerve-wracking and sometimes shallow. The questions dress Rachel up as a hero, a martyr, an innocent victim... The more I get to know Rachel, the more I think she was just a girl. You can scour her writing and never find any desire to be a hero. She wanted to make a difference and she believed that she could. Maybe that’s naive. Maybe that’s heroic. I know that it is uncommon.
Admittedly, Rachel Corrie has become my hero. As an artist. And as a writer. And as a defender of her own spirit, her own light, which she knew was finite and indescribable. I am inspired by the way she followed her gut. Trusted her intuition. Saw a path laid before her and did not look away when that road became very, very dark.
The rehearsals have been dream-like. They have gone very, very fast. I show up in the morning and Braden and I warm-up and then we get to work. I blink and six hours have passed. I always feel like we’re just getting started. Every day I feel like that. Even when the time has gone roughly. Last Thursday, the weight of the text and the noise of all the expectations hit me from behind while I was trying to practice the delicate ballet of the blocking. But even in the rare times I feel like crumpling under the pressure of embodying this extraordinary person in the middle of the place where she grew up, the difficulty has been welcome. Rachel courted difficulty. She seemed to have a knack for looking challenge deep in the eye and painting it sky blue.
We go into tech tomorrow. I am reluctant to leave the rehearsal room. Not because we’re not ready. This play wants an audience. This play wants to be heard and laughed at and fought with. I am reluctant to leave the rehearsal room because it has been a wonder-full time, looking into Rachel’s world and building it from the inside out. It has been an artistic dream come true to meet Braden Abraham every day and devour the work in front of us. It has been an experience of warm sunlight through the window to run lines with our Stage Manager, Erica Schwartz-Hall, and to share small insights on the text and discover the happy secrets that Rachel buried every place she went. It has been a trip around the world to sit with our Dramaturge, Kati Sweeney, and build a clear picture of the sounds of tank shells through concrete and the banter of young children playing soccer in Rafah. It has changed my life, for good, I think, to spend these days with Rachel Corrie.
I will never be the same.
“It’s going really well,” I say to my best friend. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”
Rehearsal: An Actor's Blog, Day 9
|
Labels:
Beth Clancy,
costumes,
David Esbjornson,
Paul Stetler,
tech rehearsal,
The Lady from Dubuque
A daily rehearsal blog from actor Paul Stetler, playing Edgar in The Lady from Dubuque.
Long day. 12 noon to 12 midnight, with a two-hour dinner break. Got through Act 1 and spent the next 8 hours on Act 2. Will finish tomorrow and try to do a run of the show. The set is beautiful but much bigger than I had imagined. We’re all trying to adjust to the difference between it and the relative intimacy we had in the rehearsal room. David made a number of staging adjustments as we worked through the Act that I found very helpful.
The cast looks fantastic in Beth’s costumes. She has me wearing an off-white cashmere turtleneck in the first act. I hate turtlenecks. But I gotta admit it really works for the character I’m playing. Edgar is most definitely a “turtleneck” guy.
-Paul
Long day. 12 noon to 12 midnight, with a two-hour dinner break. Got through Act 1 and spent the next 8 hours on Act 2. Will finish tomorrow and try to do a run of the show. The set is beautiful but much bigger than I had imagined. We’re all trying to adjust to the difference between it and the relative intimacy we had in the rehearsal room. David made a number of staging adjustments as we worked through the Act that I found very helpful.
The cast looks fantastic in Beth’s costumes. She has me wearing an off-white cashmere turtleneck in the first act. I hate turtlenecks. But I gotta admit it really works for the character I’m playing. Edgar is most definitely a “turtleneck” guy.
-Paul
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