There’s Never A Good Time To Have A Baby
Or, “In Pursuit of the Perfect Process”
Don’t worry -- I’m not pregnant.
I *am* directing Fitzandstartz Productions’ I Have A Song To Sing, O!, written by the inimitable Rachel Lampert, with new lyrics to Gilbert and Sullivan songs. It’s a silly, wonderful time.
Of course, about two weeks before rehearsals started, I could be found in my bed at odd hours of the day questioning why I ever wanted to direct in the first place because I was clearly totally unprepared for this show. This is a common thing for me. The onset of rehearsals pretty much means a guaranteed existential crisis for yours truly. Because doing the thing you love is scary. Because you might fail. And then what?
I, like any optimistic young person, want everything I do to be perfect. I want a perfect rehearsal process. I don’t want any actors to be angry; I don’t want anyone to feel like their time is being wasted in rehearsals; I don’t want anyone to feel unheard or under-appreciated. I want everyone to collaborate joyfully and I want the audience to be the willing recipient of all that joy. I want everyone, cast and audience, to leave the show drenched in an artistic exuberance unlike anything they’ve ever experienced in a theatre.
Of course, what I’m talking about is essentially magic, and you can’t just pull that shit outta the air. You have to be present and make yourself ready for it. You have to hope it will show up for every show you do, but realize that sometimes it just isn’t going to and that’s okay. And no amount of preparation, dramaturgy, existential dread, late-night Anne Bogart reading, or emotional eating is going to create the perfect process.
I am never fully ready to direct a play.
But, when the calendar says “First Read Through”, I just show up. Usually I leave a little mortified, feeling like I missed an obvious angle on the text, that my welcome speech to the cast was unpolished, that I should have had something ready that I didn’t… but fear and embarrassment are signs of something crucial to the production process: vulnerability.
So, during this process I’m practicing holding back my desire to be incredibly hard on myself. I’m choosing to be grateful that I still care about directing enough to let it scare me. When someone corrects me or offers something I hadn’t thought of, I don’t waste time or precious energy berating myself for not catching it first. I say “Thank you!”, and I forge ahead.
I always tell actors I’m working with that it’s okay to make mistakes and when they do, they should forgive themselves immediately and move on. It’s time I applied that same philosophy to my own work. There is no such thing as a perfect process and the right time to start is right now.
-Melyssa