Ah! The lure of live theatre is just as much about the possibility of spectacular crashes as your average NASCAR event. It is just that the crashes in live theatre tend to be less fiery and more humiliating.
I've spent many a drunken evening lifting my glass to the glory of crashing. I've extolled the virtues of a messy theatre - a survivalist theatre, if you will- to anyone who would sit and listen. Well, if my company's production of "Adventures in Mating" has taught me anything it has taught me that anyone can talk. When it comes down to it, messiness is terrifying.
When you are involved in a show that has 60 different scene combinations and a rotating cast running one night a week messiness is no longer some passionate, adolescent artistic fantasy. It is a fact of life. Sitting in the back of the theatre watching these performers that I love and trust face the Goliath of a script and an audience every week is nerve wracking. It feels like I've thrown my baby to the lions armed with a Swiss army knife and some hugs. If the lion gets too close, son, give him a big hug and hope he melts. If he doesn't, well, I hope you can jam that knife into his jugular before it's too late. If that doesn't work out, well, it was nice knowing you. Bye. Mommy loves you!
It is sick to enjoy this feeling of dread every week. We're still tinkering with the formula, but I have faith that we will be a well oiled machine in a couple of months.
Of course, when that happens we will be required to up the ante and make it just a little more dangerous.
I only hope I'll get to see Ben's fully comitted, utterly dorky air kick again. That was a thing of beauty.
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