Earlier this month I put on and performed my very own play, called “When Grandma Returns,” a work in three acts. It was an immensely satisfying experience because my words were brought to life and because the audience applauded enthusiastically -- and, oh, because the play almost didn’t happen.
Writing it (which took me all of seven days) was the easy part. But putting it on - ha! - was the hard part. It was like the universe conspired against me and attracted drama before the drama. First there was the important matter of actors (casting call was a bust and then those who agreed to do it flaked out), and the people I’d asked for financial contributions contributed nothing so that I paid for all publicity out of pocket, then there was the crucial matter of rehearsals (we hadn’t any until two days prior to showtime) on top of which the operators of the original auditorium proved uncooperative and, to put it un-theatrically, full of shit; and three days before opening night a principal player, perhaps thee principal player as the story revolves around him, flaked out like the others, leaving me to drastically, yet ingeniously, re-write 98% lines and stage directions. I was vexed and near hopeless but I was hell bent on putting on my play. And I did!
I performed for one like I was performing for 100
I found another venue, a cabaret bar, with four days to go. Whew! We ran for two nights. On opening night I had a handsome-sized audience but no lighting technician (bar didn’t inform him of my show) so it was very “hands-on.” On the second night we played to an audience of one, not counting the bemused staff, but had the lighting technician -- and it was a better show than the previous night. I performed for the one like I was performing for 100 audience members and there was never a break of character or missed cue!
click here for pics
click here for pics
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