Instant Theatre: Why Not Give It A (Double) Shot?

Did this ever happen to you as a child: your mother signs you up for something (for example, summer camp, dance class, Girl Scouts, Chinese Drill Team, etc.) and you don't even find about it until the day before it's supposed to start?

Well, this didn't exactly happen to me THAT way, but it felt like it. You know, the way a sucker punch feels. No, I'm not implying that I was tricked into running for PTA president or chairing the bake sale committee ("Hey, it'll be fun! We'll all help you!")

I'm talking about the 3rd annual Double Shot Festival, sponsored by the Northwest Playwrights Alliance. Once a year, this hardy group of writers comes together to challenge themselves and to torture local Pierce County actors by putting on a weekend of instant theatre.

Here's how it works. Around 8 pm on the Thursday night before the festival begins, eight of their playwrights are given a writing prompt. They are randomly assigned to a director and a cast of actors, numbering anywhere from 2 to 5 persons. Then, these writers have 12 hours to write a 10-minute play tailor-made for their cast based on the prompt.

Then, starting at 8:30 the next morning, each director and cast is given until 7:00 that evening to rehearse, memorize and perform their play in front of a live audience. Sounds like a blast? You bet. Sounds like stress? Tell me about it!!!

I really can't say I was "signed up" for this event. Randy asked me if I was interested in participating and I agreed to it voluntarily. That was bad enough. What was worse, I talked my son Tim into doing it, too.

10 1/2 hours of grueling, on-the-spot acting and memorization. Creating a character and going through an actor's process in one short day that normally takes a professional at least 3 weeks to accomplish. Spending the day in fear that you are about to make a big fool of yourself. Walking in dread of that 7:00 hour. Wondering if it would be too horrible to walk away in shame rather than give the worst performance of one's life. I certainly hope Tim forgives me one day.

Okay, okay....it wasn't THAT bad....but, then again, maybe it was.

I've always said that I am not a "serious" actor. I do theatre for enjoyment. It's my hobby. That's all. I'm not athletic. I am only a so-so musician. I do needlework, but not too often. I rarely read for pleasure. I never watch TV. I do theatre. Now, that doesn't mean I don't take theatre seriously. On the contrary, I take the work of an actor quite seriously. But I do theatre because it brings a smile to my face.

On the other hand, Instant Theatre was not fun for me. It was stress. It was terror. It was Aya-Is-Not-A-Good-Sport-About-This. Instant theatre is about memorizing madly, creating a character on the run and when your memory fails you on stage (and it will!!), shooting from the hip and hoping you hit the target anyway.

I realized that performing on stage is a joy, but the rehearsal process that precedes it is a wonderful gift as well. It is during rehearsals that I can make wonderful discoveries about my character and about myself. This is when I bond with my fellow actors and watch slowly as we create something magical. I want to savor each day and live each moment as someone new, someone who only existed on paper until I brought her to life.

With Instant Theatre, most of this wonderful process doesn't happen. There isn't time.

In a strange way, I am grateful for The Double Shot experience. I now know what I enjoy about theatre and I also know what I don't enjoy. I know my limits, but I know what I do well.

The Double Shot Festival is a quick cup of Folger's Instant Crystals. I prefer my coffee brewed. Slowly. With the morning news. While dressed in my fluffy bathrobe. Sipping and savoring every drop. On my day off from work so I can take my time and enjoy my java.

Don't give me that quick fix. Don't force me into an adrenaline rush. Don't make me act in a pressure cooker. Just give me an opportunity to create my art in my own way. I will take direction, but I need time to do it well. Given the right conditions, I will work hard for you.

If it's my day to work, I will give you a good day's labor. If you don't over-tax this old 50+ year-old memory, I will be off-book and ready to go by the deadline. If you make demands of me that this middle-aged woman can do (without it killing her), it will all come together and it will work.

Sigh..... I wish it really was my day off from work today. A nice, relaxing cup of coffee sounds really nice right now.

Now Seating for "The Theory of Everything"

Shortly after New Years 2009, I was contacted by one of the friendly producers with SIS Productions in Seattle. Would I be available to take over the role of Grandma May in their upcoming production, "The Theory of Everything?" They had an actor drop out.

When that call came, I was in the midst of the whirlwind, stress-filled week called "Tech Week" with Lakewood's production of "Greater Tuna," but my mind (thankfully) was sharp enough to say, yes! After all, last November I auditioned for the part of May, but was not cast.

Usually when I do not get cast in a show, I'm not that surprised. It makes sense to me that another actor might be more appropriate for a role than I. But this time, it confounded me. I was convinced that I was meant to play that role, and I couldn't quite lay it to rest.

But, here was the Mother of all Second Chances. The bus I missed turned around and came back for me. I climbed on board and took my seat. Literally. And believe it or not, I didn't get up from that seat for another 8 weeks.

Prince Gomolvilas' "The Theory of Everything" is a story about 7 Asian-Americans in Las Vegas who gather each Saturday evening to watch for UFOs. The characters come and go, making dramatic entrances and exits as they tell their tales of love, loss, dreams, hopes and confusion. All except May.

May spends the entire play seated in a lawn chair, waiting, watching, sleeping and occasionally working on a needlepoint project. She is the ever-present point of stability and constancy. She is the one who sits and observes. And boy, did I sit. And sit. And sit some more.

Immediately, I saw the advantages to this.

It was easy to learn and rehearse most of my blocking on stage. At the top of each scene, director Manuel Cawaling would point to my lawn chair and say, "May, you're sitting down." Piece of cake...

I was also able to bring in my own comfortable furniture. I have a favorite lawn chair that I used throughout the rehearsal process. Other actors envied my comfort and even attempted to "steal" the use of my chair.

I was able to rest and close my eyes during rehearsals and still be in character. After a long work day and a 45 minute commute to rehearsals, I had a hard time staying awake and energetic most evenings. What a perfect role to play, a sleeping grandma!

I was able to put into practice that tired old theatrical adage: "there are no small parts, only small actors." Sitting upstage (in the back of the stage area) in a lawn chair and saying almost no lines left me no other option than to act with my whole self. I had very few words and minimal blocking to express who May was all about. So, I learned to use my whole self to create my presence. Without the "burden" of copious lines to memorize, I was free to explore May in her entirety. They also say that "acting is REacting." I got to live that adage every night on stage. What a great learning experience!!

And most of all, I got what most actors covet: stage time. No one was on stage more than May. The Northwest Asian Weekly said that May was easily the most memorable character. I don't know about that, but she sure was the one person everyone was watching. The Seattle P-I (may it rest in peace) praised my performance as did Seattlest.com. Clearly, saying almost nothing has its advantages.

To be fair, I did get to stand up on occasion and spout some dialogue. I even got to deliver a humorous monologue at the end of the show. But, even with those lovely moments in the story, May will be remembered as the One Who Sat...and the One Who Said Very Little.

In other words, it was the perfect role for me.

So, next time some rude, thoughtless person tells you to "sit down and be quiet," don't despair. This might be your opportunity to steal the show.

Doing Our Part in "Greater Tuna"

I am sure you have heard that over-used motto about it taking a village to [insert worthy cause here]. You know, when someone wants to point out how we are "all in this together," or that we all need to do our share in this world. Most often the motto is quoted when addressing the needs of children.

It may indeed take a village to raise a child, I'm not going to question that jewel of wisdom. But, sometimes this adage must also be applied to situations beyond child-rearing and education. Because, sometimes, it takes that village to raise a Tuna.

No, I'm not talking about the kind of tuna that swims in the sea and makes good sashimi. I'm referring to Tuna, Texas, the 3rd smallest town in the Lone Star State. Well, no...not really. There really isn't any place called Tuna on a Rand-McNally map of Texas.

But in Theatre World, the Greater Tuna area is legendary...almost mythical, and Randy and I had the privilege of being in the village that raised Tuna.

When the Lakewood Playhouse announced that their managing directors Marcus Walker and Scott Campbell were planning to perform "Greater Tuna" as a fund-raiser for the theater, I immediately thought, "I could help out! I should volunteer to be the assistant stage manager."

Normally, working as a stage manager or assistant stage manager (better known as the "ASM") is not my idea of a fun way to spend 4 weekends. After all, you are usually stuck back stage with temperamental actors, grumpy stagehands and half-crazed directors and costumers barking last minute orders.

But, something inside me told me to do it anyway. You see, in the world of live theater, there are times when you get to be on stage, and there are times when you work to allow others to get on stage. This was the time, I told myself, that I should labor for another actor's glory.

Randy agreed, and quickly jumped in and volunteered to be stage manager. Whew! At least I knew I could get along with the stage manager on this project!

So, after many rehearsals, numerous production meetings and the filming of silly promotional trailers that were posted on YouTube, "Greater Tuna" was born. Marcus and Scott played all 20 characters in the show, both the males and females.

A crew of 5 dresser/changers worked backstage to make Marcus and Scott into quick-change artists. Randy called the cues from the tech booth, and I donned my walkie-talkie headset and called "places!" to our actors and crew.

We did 2 whirlwind weekends, with 6 performances per weekend. The actors worked feverishly through each show. The dressers became a well-oiled machine of costuming magic. The audiences laughed until they almost cried. "Greater Tuna" was a hit!

The fans of the Lakewood Playhouse praised Marcus and Scott's brilliant work. And rightfully so. They deserved all the credit they got. The rest of the production staff: the director, the dressers, the costumers, set and lighting designers and the stage managers were nearly invisible. Tired, ragged and worn-out, yes, but feeling like all their hard work was well worth it.

As it turns out, "Greater Tuna" was Scott's last hurrah at the Lakewood Playhouse. Two days after Tuna closed, he was notified that he got the job as head of another theater group across town. He'll soon be leaving Lakewood and will be sorely missed.

As the leaders of their respective theater companies, Marcus and Scott won't often get to be on the stage. They will usually be kept busy being those great people (better known as "producers") who work to allow others to get on stage.

I am so glad that Randy and I got to be one of the privileged few who worked to help Marcus and Scott get on stage. I was glad to be in their village... their theatrical village.

And you know what the best part of the deal was? I spent 12 performances back stage, and never once ran into any temperamental actors, grumpy stagehands or half-crazed directors or costumers. I only got to work with a terrific village full of great theater artists.

Of course, there was that grumpy assistant stage manager....don't know when I'll ever have to work with HER again........