Unexpected End

Before I mention Saturday night's performance of "The King is But a Man" I need to mention that my matinee, yesterday, was cancelled due to weather. Ice and snow, to be exact. A snow storm I feel compelled to point out was not even on the radar earlier in the week. Such, it seems, is my luck with such things. (Especially since this show was originally intended for late autumn of last year.)

Regardless of how a show goes, it is difficult to not have some closure. True, I had virtually no set for this show, but I would have gotten a sense of completion of my mission had I been able to perform all three of my long-awaited (by me) performances at that venue. That sense of completion would have been capped off by my putting the precious few items from my set back in their respective places in the venue. Now they will merely be put away by the next play which will rehearse tonight. (And with whom I had to share the stage over the last five weeks, unexpectedly, as both shows rehearsed in the same time frame, hence my late nights.) This pains me somewhat.

As does the fact that in the end, so few people came to see the show. It is difficult enough when one spend six weeks or so practicing someone else's play with other people under the guidance of someone else, only to have few people come watch it. To spend over a year creating your own work, all by yourself, to have so few people express an interest in it is even more of a gut check in some ways. Especially when, like me, you did everything in your power to promote the project.

I am not ashamed to admit that most of my creative projects have audiences in mind. I of course get something out of my writings and performances, and I strive to do well in both endeavors. I can be proud of my work in my own right, and I am for "The King is But a Man" in both writing and the two performances I delivered of it. But unlike some, possibly more enlightened souls, I rarely write or perform in a vacuum. That is to say I write so people will read my words, and be entertained, moved, forced to think by them. The same with  my acting. Better people than I can write novels that nobody will ever read, that nobody is intended to read, and be fine with that. I know actor who can perform for empty houses all the time, and get by on just the fulfillment of a job well done. But that isn't me.

This isn't to say I seek validation for my whole existence through applause. Yet this stuff is not easy to do, folks. And I imagine plenty of people in other service oriented fields, (which is how I think of the arts to some extent) would feel similar as I do now, if nobody partook of their efforts. One who cooks a lavish meal, and has nobody show up to eat it is probably not celebrating the fact that all of it is headed to the dumpster at the end of the evening. Food is to be eaten. Words are to be read. Music, listened and danced to.

So I don't feel guilty for my disappointment.

As for Saturday night itself, it was a better experience than Friday night. There were only seven people in the crowd, but they were a responsive group. They laughed at some of the jokes, and seemed generally interested in the story I was trying to tell, by way of my own words and those of Shakespeare. I received several compliments after the performance. Though I did stumble once or twice in some of the speeches again, I do believe I corrected myself in such a way that nobody was the wiser in the audience. Making mistakes still irks me to no end, but it's more tolerable when the flow of the scene is left in tact, and I believe that it was.

Mistakes aside, I am satisfied with my performance on Saturday. My energy, (which was flagging a bit in the evening before I got to the theatre) picked up once the shoe go under way. Responsive audiences help with that. And I've said before I'd rather have ten people in the audience who are into the show, than thirty who are passive and unmoved. I don't know if the audience on Saturday totally made up for Friday night, but it was certainly a relief to have a few more people.

One member of the audience, a friend of mine, expressed regret that more people had not come to see the show. "They don't know what they're missing," she said. The same person, along with her companion for the evening also told me of their hope that this weekend would not be the final time I performed the piece. I mentioned that I had always intended for this to be just a premiere, but to then take it around to other venues, if they would have me.

To be honest, however, I am no longer sure if I should. Having so little return on  my investment, mixed with other difficulties during this process took a lot out of me. On top of a string of creative failures in this area over the years, it has left me feeling rather flat. True, it is all still raw for now, and my mind may change as I get some distance from the experience. Yet right now, I don't feel I have the energy to go through cold calling venues, convincing them to give me a try, have the majority of them say "no" and have little interest from audiences in any venue that happens to say less. The experience of the original venue has nearly sapped me dry. Do I have it in me to continue this elsewhere? Is it even a marketable product, or has this experience proved that nobody wants to see this?

I don't know. I've been asking myself these questions all weekend, and will probably continue to do so for some time. I have other creative projects of my own in the pipeline for this year, and they will take their own large amounts of energy. (Especially if they don't succeed as planned.) I may not be able to pursue all of it, now that I've taken a hit like this. Again, I'll have to think on it for a while. The iron is certainly not hot coming off of this weekend, so there is no need to strike quickly on this decision...

I have a regular play that I am editing, and I've been asked about the possibility of directing something locally. Those two projects are the next two immediately demanding my attention. (If I take on the directing job that is. I must read the script.) Beyond those, I don't know.

Road Trip!

It is not always possible, but as an actor, if you get the chance to be a part of a traveling show, even a show you are otherwise not in love with, I advise you to grab the chance.

There are many advantages to being part of a show that is taken to several venues, in addition to the fun and adventure associated with road tripping and acting.

To begin with, it is the perfect way to put to the test something that I have often spoke about in my blog, and that is being ready to perform a show well under just about any conditions. Traveling to different venues keeps an actor on his toes, as it were, preventing him from becoming too comfortable with the specific stage, lights, house, or other accouterments of his home theatre. (Or anything theatre, if the show has no permanent home.)

A second practical advantage to most traveling productions is that they are stretched out over a longer period of time than your standard community production. While the latter is often only two weekends, the former, due to the logistics and expense often take place over the course of a month or more, with performances spread out. The longer you have to be in a show, and the more chances you have to go over it and perfect it, the better the product becomes. Like wine, many shows get better with age.

And finally, shows that are taken on the literal road provide a greater chance of getting to know one’s cast mates and crew. The nature of travel, and all of the benefits and disadvantages of the same, tend to enhance that sense of camaraderie and teamwork among groups of people engaged in a common task. I have said many times here and elsewhere that while bonding personally with fellow actors is not required, it certainly increases the chances of a show being excellent in all ways. And whatever makes the show better is good policy.

Of course, each of these things can happen in a standard show that does not travel. If they could not, there would not be much community theatre going on around the country. These advantages are not exclusive to a traveling show. However, they seem to be common threads in nearly all examples of road shows.

One of my greatest theatre experiences, one that convinced me I wanted to continue doing this acting thing far into the future of my life, was in fact a road show. Not only that, the production was a rather mediocre experience in many ways while we remained at our home theatre. The transcendent quality did not show up until we took it to other venues in the area. And I feel that is due in large part to the presence of all three of the facets of traveling shows I have mentioned.

They are not easy to come by at the community level. And of course this only works for specific types of shows; it works best for shows that have minimal sets. But such plays are out there. Companies that are willing to travel are out there. And if not, perhaps you can be the one who suggests such an idea to a local theatre production. You don’t have to travel to Europe for this to work. Any area in this country is full of city parks, community centers, and high schools that make perfect destinations for the traveling show. The extra work and expense can sometimes be more than made up for by the richness of the experience.

(Originally appeared on showbizradio.net on August 19th, 2009. Appropriate edits have been made.)