There are few words that strike more fear into the hearts of actors than “You have to be off-book by such-and-such a date.” That’s the rehearsal where scripts are no longer allowed on stage; actors who find themselves at a loss for words — quite literally — can still call for lines and get a prompt, but otherwise they’re on their own.
There is something about going off-book that does strange things to the memory, at least in my experience. Lines that you knew cold earlier that day while you practiced opposite the bathroom mirror suddenly vanish, as if you had never before encountered them. Because of this, our rehearsal on March 19 for the upcoming WRAPS production of The Game’s Afoot is not quite as smooth as previous ones, as various off-stage people call out prompts. By the time the rehearsal ends everyone seems relieved, even though we only got halfway through the play.
The first off-book rehearsal is always the worst, I tell myself; it gets better from here, and amazingly quickly. That’s partly because we’re on three rehearsals a week between now and opening night, with room to add more as needed. Practice makes perfect, after all.
When I say that people “off stage” are calling out prompts, I mean that they’re sitting around the edge of one of the classrooms at the Ashcroft HUB, which has been our rehearsal room since the beginning of January. Green tape on the floor gives the approximate location of walls, doors, hallways, and a staircase, but it’s a pale imitation of the real set, which we get our first glimpse of at that March 19 rehearsal. Set designer Jim Duncan and his team have been in the HUB gym all weekend, and even with a skeleton crew the set is taking shape.
No longer will actors have to guess where the staircase ends; it’s right there. How many paces — exactly — is it from the main entrance to the French doors? Now we know. Where is the hallway to the dining-room in relation to the desk with the telephone? We can tell at a glance.
Also taking shape are costumes and props. I had an interesting conversation earlier in the week with one of the crew, who came into the Journal office to discuss a certain prop, which he was about to make. The prop in question was a weapon, and it was only in retrospect that I realized it was a good thing no one else had overheard us, as taken out of context our exchange could have been somewhat alarming.
The play is set in 1936, and as I’ve already noted, we’re leaning hard on golden age Hollywood glamour. This is proving easier said than done with one gown, which is causing a good deal of heartache for our costume designed and seamstress Margaret Moreira. Her solution? Create an entirely new dress from scratch, drawing on gowns from that era. As someone who can just about sew on a button, all I can do is tip my hat to her in awe and admiration.
We won’t be on the stage rehearsing until March 22, but that gives us three whole weeks, or nearly a dozen rehearsals, which is an unheard-of luxury; usually we only get three rehearsals maximum on the stage. However, a visit to the set on March 20 yields some bad (or at least bad-ish) news: we need to find someone who can run the lights and sound for all five performances. We have no shortage of volunteers who can do one or two days, but because of work commitments and uncertain schedules, there is no one who can be there for all of them.
I can think of an obvious candidate: someone who knows the script well and thus knows all the cues where the lights need to dim, or a thunderclap needs to sound; someone who will definitely be there for each performance. I take a deep breath, and hear myself saying to Jim “I can do it.”
For those of you wondering what the director does once opening night comes around, the answer is “Nothing.” At the end of the final dress rehearsal, the director gives the last of her notes to the cast; after that the production is officially in the hands of the stage manager. When Mavourneen Varcoe-Ryan was directing our plays, she would come to every performance and sit in the audience, to provide support, and it’s a habit that I’ve adopted. Having worked so long and so hard with everyone else, I can’t imagine not being there every step of the way.
Since I’ll be at the performances anyway, I tell myself, I might as well sit in the sound booth at the back and do something useful. Suddenly, however, that three weeks until opening night seems much, much shorter. Oh well; if the actors can get all those lines down cold by opening night, I can learn something new too. And if a light or sound cue goes wrong, I’ll only have myself to blame.
The Game’s Afoot will be at the Ashcroft HUB for five performances from April 12 to 15.
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