So, “Lex” – the active commenter in the “Lizzie Awards, 2006”
post—seems to have the tiniest bit of the inside line on the personnel workings
of Enchanted April. Lex used an example
of one of the actors in EA “taking control” of the lighting in order to
illustrate the perils of doubling up job duties in the theatre.
This being my blog, I get to expound on that experience and
what I’ve learned from it. Perhaps Lex
will comment. If Lex has a blog, I hope
a link will be posted and more thoughts explored there. I’m all about the cross-germination of the
blogosphere!
Anyway, first to the general state of civic theatre:
In civic theatre, directors are often forced to design their
own sets, pull their own costumes, design their own lights, run their own sound,
take on parts. . . .etc. It's
unfortunate, but until a means of recruiting and developing a larger acting and
technical pool is found, I'm afraid it’s the nature of the beast.
It is very difficult to wear multiple hats and keep your
directorial eye on the ball. If the
director—as the person with the ultimate responsibility for the navigation of
the ship—has to look in too many directions, there are icebergs that are bound
to go unnoticed.
So, yes. . . I agree that it is best when everyone has a
place in a well defined hierarchy and everyone follows through with that
job.
But in civic theatre, people have day jobs, previous
commitments, family illnesses, personal tragedies.. . . these things must be
given as much sensitivity and deference as can be spared. So occasionally, people have to fill
in. And with fewer people to cover the same
ground. . . it makes the turf thinner. If you catch my loose metaphor.
And yes, occasionally, in the spirit of pitching in for the
team, job lines get blurred and personnel conflicts bubble up.
But managing those problems and getting past them requires
*everyone* to be upfront, honest, and *communicative* when they feel
undermined. Not doing so only leads to
misperceptions, misunderstandings, and unnecessary resentments that are harder
to resolve later on.
But these are things that those who aren't present in the
situation won't fully understand-- no matter how detailed the story they got
secondhand. Even the people who are
present only see certain aspects of a situation and forget that there are other things going on: other things
contributing the chaos surrounding them.
The truth of the matter is probably somewhere in the median
between the various experiences.
Okay.. . .now lets get into specifics (I have discussed this
issue with everyone involved so I hope that it’s okay that I admit to my folly
publicly. If I embarrass anyone, you
have my number. Let’s talk!)
Enchanted April was a difficult show to get personnel lined
up for. The few technicians the Ice
House had were burned out by the time they got to EA. The lighting technician had done every show up
until then (if you saw every show, Lex, it's the techie in the black. . .you know the one I mean!). She made the commitment to do my show in
October, but then got signed on to do two other shows in between her November
commitment and EA—in March/April. She
was a tired young woman, for certain. Had a job to keep, school to tend to, and a tremendous loss to grieve. Most certainly things that come first.
Then, I had to cast my Rose at the last moment from an
internet contact. Sight unseen!
My Mrs. Graves had to drop because of a family illness. After two weeks of asking around, I finally
stepped into the role myself. Thus the
beginning of my split focus.
I went through two Costanzas before we even started the run
with a third.
Couldn’t find a sound technician to save our lives. When we finally did, he didn’t want to listen
to the technical director/stage manager. There was definitely some bargaining that had to happen just to keep him
from dropping out. And at that, he was
gone for three days of the run so the SM had to run the sound and try to call
cues.
We had no stage hands. Not even one. So the actors took
on the shift changes of their own accord.
The effects projector decided not to work until final
dress.
One of my principal actors was out the entire week before
tech.
Shall I go on? The only way we got through it was because we had a hands on producer who helped out.
With each and every one of these things hitting me from all
sides—and I, the director, feel I have to figure each and every one of these
things out—I was hardly the most objective or focused person to work with.
So, as it happened, my cast, with whom I had bonded
thoroughly because I was also a fellow actor, stepped up to the plate. B- and Kristin, most especially. B-, who observed that our SM was busy trying
to figure out the effects projector and teach the sound guy how to properly
deliver a cue without arguing with her, offered to choreograph the shift
changes. She spoke to me about it. I agreed to let her. I failed to speak to my technical
director. She was busy. I was busy. It didn’t happen. My fault.
As such, during the run, the changes were choreographed one
way and the SM/technical director would give a different order and the cast
members would be confused. And when cast
members are confused, they get contradictory.
On another occasion, I called B- to the house during light
hanging to look at colors on the scrim. The purpose for this? She’s the
costumer as well. I was speaking to her,
in the presence of my co-lighting designer/technical director, as a fellow
designer. She has to have input on the
color scheme because she has spent hundreds of dollars in fabrics for the costumes
she’s almost finished making. She gets
input on saturation levels and how the lighting colors will affect her costume
design (because the lights are easier to change than specially made costumes).
A few times, my technical director would ask for my input on
the effects projection. I was happy with
it a number of ways and she wished to keep pushing ahead with getting the
projection moving. I had given up by that time. She’s a perfectionist—one of the things I
admire about her.
Anyway. . . what ultimately happened, unbeknownst to me, was
that my technical director felt undermined and unappreciated on a number of
occasions. Because of my swimming head,
I didn’t realize that I had set up a situation where there were a number of
cooks but no top chef. That is
completely my responsibility as the director.
The actors who stepped up to handle such elements as shift
changes, scene study, and properties crew are not to be blamed for taking
ownership of an area where there was a need. They were pitching in to make the production as good as it could be and
had no other motive for it at all. What
are sometimes perceived as power struggles are really just a desire to do
things as well as possible.
My technical director is also not to blame for this
situation. The only thing I have asked
of her in the future is to communicate when she’s feeling undermined or set
aside as a contributing member of the staff. I can’t do anything about the problems unless the problems are
communicated.
As it was, I didn’t know about her feelings until several
weeks after the show had closed. I can’t
do anything about it then. All I can do
is exactly what I did: have a frank and
heartfelt conversation with her, explore what really went down (more than just
her perception of what went down), and promise to improve in the future.
Which is what I intend to do. I know perfectly well that I cannot lose
myself so thoroughly in a production as I did on EA. The rehearsal process was a bear on all of
us. The performing was a joy for most of
us. All in all, a group of really
talented people created a really good show—technically and
performance-wise.
On Enchanted April,
regardless of whether I was wearing too many hats, as the director-- when the
conflicts were finally brought to my attention-- I took full responsibility and
made what amends I could.
No matter what else I am, I AM the director. My name is on the flyer. I am ultimately responsible for whatever
conditions I set up-- and for the results of those conditions. It may be nobody’s fault or everyone’s fault,
but it’s my responsibility.
I may be attached to my own vainglory from time to time, but
I’m not bullheaded. I know that I can’t
do what I do without the commitment and talents of others. I do try to be an adult when it really
counts.
In the work we do together, it really counts.
And that’s the inside scoop, Lex. From where you were sitting while watching
EA, you couldn’t see the whole story. None
of us could.
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