Tuesday, March 21, 2006
The Process: Or Never Ask How They Make Sausage?
Tech Week
Seven parts adrenaline, two parts desperation and one part inspiration.
The process of Tech Week always reminds me of my brief time pledging a fraternity and the sleep deprived chaos of Hell Week. You're excited to have reached that point, but then all of the obligations are coming due and it hits the fan. (Not to mention the overwhelming stench of body odor and wondering who thought a diet of beans would be good for a dozen young men in close quarters for a week.)
The set isn't ready, the lines are like strangers and the vision you thought you had has become a glaucoma filled haze. Every step is at a break neck pace, but the progress is mired in a swamp of restarts, changed blocking and technical snafus.
You quickly begin to wonder what the hell you were thinking and can you pull it off. You're wondering if it even makes sense, but then you wonder if you care as the midnight hour looms near.
Luckily, I've got a wonderful collections of misfits, madmen and madwomen around me. That doesn't mean there isn't a desperate urgency coupled with an overwhelming dread, but it does mean that they understand and I can count on them. It's just a matter of remembering that as everyone plumbs reserves that have been tapped and tries to focus and close out the urgent demands of the outside world. The million tiny details that you have convinced yourself must be in place, when they will only exist for a moment and then the real story will continue on, continue to wedge their way into a mind already overcrowded.
Three more days and then it's in the hands of the theatre gods and a remarkable cast.
Seven parts adrenaline, two parts desperation and one part inspiration.
The process of Tech Week always reminds me of my brief time pledging a fraternity and the sleep deprived chaos of Hell Week. You're excited to have reached that point, but then all of the obligations are coming due and it hits the fan. (Not to mention the overwhelming stench of body odor and wondering who thought a diet of beans would be good for a dozen young men in close quarters for a week.)
The set isn't ready, the lines are like strangers and the vision you thought you had has become a glaucoma filled haze. Every step is at a break neck pace, but the progress is mired in a swamp of restarts, changed blocking and technical snafus.
You quickly begin to wonder what the hell you were thinking and can you pull it off. You're wondering if it even makes sense, but then you wonder if you care as the midnight hour looms near.
Luckily, I've got a wonderful collections of misfits, madmen and madwomen around me. That doesn't mean there isn't a desperate urgency coupled with an overwhelming dread, but it does mean that they understand and I can count on them. It's just a matter of remembering that as everyone plumbs reserves that have been tapped and tries to focus and close out the urgent demands of the outside world. The million tiny details that you have convinced yourself must be in place, when they will only exist for a moment and then the real story will continue on, continue to wedge their way into a mind already overcrowded.
Three more days and then it's in the hands of the theatre gods and a remarkable cast.
