At 6:30pm on Friday the 13th, 2020, the proverbial butterflies should be fluttering in the bellies of Pseudolus and the rest of the company of A Funny thing Happened on the Way to the Forum at Schenectady Light Opera. The nervous excitement, the “roar of the greasepaint,” the flowers and chocolates, the hugs and back-pats, the calls of “good show” and “break-a-leg” should abound. There should be stretches and vocal warm-ups and ushers sorting out programs. There should be rousing words of encouragement by a director who has been working on the show for not just the six week rehearsal period, but for six months. At 8pm on Friday the 13th 2020 the lights should come up on an intricately designed set that was constructed, painted and decorated over weeks by a team of volunteers working long nights, after full-time day jobs. Actors should appear in beautiful costumes, planned, fitted, scavenged and sewn by another dedicated crew of volunteers who have given their time and talent for free. There should be music, led by a music director who for months to has been teaching and perfecting and encouraging her musicians and cast. And there should be performers, some of whom have waited years to this play their roles; who have practiced music and lines and dances for countless hours, just to make people laugh and forget their troubles for a while. At 8pm on Friday the 13th, audiences were promised A Comedy Tonight! Weighty affairs would just have to wait-- as the song says. But as we now know, those affairs wouldn't wait after all. They couldn't. The outside world would intrude on comedy and tragedy alike, and, in a rare instance, the show – the shows – would not go on. At 8pm on Friday the 13th, the ghost light is all that will illuminate the stage at Schenectady Light Opera – like the ghost lights at Proctors, and The Egg, schools and regional theaters across the country, and every stage on Broadway. To make the world safer for all of us, we must let go of short term plans, and long held traditions. When a world crisis hits close to home, everyone has their own moment of realization – when they begin to grasp the closeness or the gravity of a situation. For many of us in the theater – those of us born with a “get it done” ethos practically ingrained in our DNA, the closing of theaters was one of those moments when the threat of a pandemic began to feel real. Of course we were aware of what's been happening around the country and the world. Of course there are larger costs to the pandemic sweeping through our communities right now than the canceling a few plays. But this is our normal, and our way of giving back to the world, so it's only natural that canceling the theater should be jarring and disappointing. And the thought of the long term effects for companies involved in the joyful struggle to bring the arts to into our communities is painful. Kudos to the boards who had to make the difficult decisions to close their doors to keep the companies solvent and their communities safe. And for that matter, for doing the thankless work of non-profit theater administration with your free time. While closing theaters is a small slice of what is happening in the world, it is a part of what we're all experiencing, and right now I'm feeling for my community and my art. People are sad and even angry that they worked so hard to create a gift they will not get to give. That's OK. You can understand why and still be sad. You can completely agree with the reasoning and be disappointed. But here's a thought I hope will help those of you who will not get to share the results of your hard work with an audience. You see, A funny thing happened on the way to A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. The same funny thing that happened in theaters and rehearsal halls for every single show that has been canceled. I wasn't in the room for any of those rehearsals, but I know that it happened. I know it because it happens every single time performers come together for a show. Some of you made new friends. Some of you got closer to old friends. All of you laughed. All of you helped each other. All of you made memories. Every single one of you learned something. You connected with each other, you shared joy and frustration. You were human and you experienced the humanity of others. Nothing we do in the arts is for naught. The process is just as important – if not more important-- than the outcome. Connecting with and enjoying each other are the very best part of creating theater. You may not get your well deserved ovations in the next months, but no-one can ever take the experience you had away from you. As Stephen Sondheim wrote, "None of it was wasted, all of it will last." Keep singing your songs and reciting your lines – in the car, in the shower, in small groups, in Google hangouts, and we'll be back together for the next audition. Just don't forget your hand sanitizer.
7 Comments
Regina Baker
3/13/2020 03:53:43 pm
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts about what is happening around us. I was not involved with this show but many wonderful friends were and my breaks for them. ❤️❤️❤️
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Connie Rowe Rauhauser
3/13/2020 04:11:23 pm
Thank you Mary for these thoughtful and poignant comments. It truly was a difficult and very sad decision for each member of the board.
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Joan Meyer
3/13/2020 04:17:17 pm
Thank you, our Queen Mary Darcy, for these beautiful words. ❤️❤️❤️
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Gary Hoffmann
3/13/2020 05:00:22 pm
Thank you, dear friend.
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Jill Ross
3/13/2020 06:13:30 pm
As always, you know just what to say. Thank you for putting into words what many of us couldn't. Love you and miss you!
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Moira P.
3/14/2020 08:04:50 am
Thank you Mary. I’d like to share this with the kids. This magically puts things in perspective ❤️ All they need to do is insert Guys and Dolls!
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