I wrote a poem in the summer of 2020 that basically encapsulated how I felt about saying goodbye to live theatre until who-knows-when. I’ll admit, I can see now that I was being a bit dramatic about this, but what kind of actor would I be if I wasn’t dramatic. Revisiting it, now that I was given the honor to reintroduce live theatre to the University of Rhode Island community, is a very cool full-circle moment for me. Here’s some of the end of my poem:
“Until then we can dream / And create / And hope for a day when the undeniable artistry / Will make us cry / And laugh / And sing / And appreciate more than before / Because I won’t exist if you don’t / And you can’t exist if we don’t. / Until I can love you again, Theatre.”
I think I was right when I said that we’ll appreciate it more than ever before, at least for me. During one of our blocking rehearsals in J Studio, before most of the set was even built, I remember doing act one with just the bare platforms on the ground and a couple black curtains hung up behind us. I think that was the day it hit me that we were putting on a live show for a live audience again. The energy in J Studio that night was absolutely unmatched. The jokes had been funnier than before, we found things in our characters that we hadn’t before, and overall just played in the space more.
I got emotional, remembering, “Oh yeah! This is what it was like to do what I love.” So from that rehearsal until closing, I would tell myself to breathe it all in, give it my all, and enjoy every last second of it.
However, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t nervous as hell half the time. Being in a room with about 100 people in it after a year-and-a-half of not being in a room with 20 people, let alone 100, was a daunting thing to think about (especially being unmasked). Even if COVID-19 wasn’t a problem, a reintroduction to crowds that big after a year-and-a-half is a very anxiety-inducing thing.
Thankfully, the medical precautions we took really calmed down my asthmathic, anxiety-ridden self. By the time opening night came around, I could easily just take a deep breath, “turn on ease” as acting instructor Jeff Church likes to tell us, forget about everything outside of “Silent Sky,” and calmly walk on stage to deliver “Heaven’s up there, they say.”
I think the fun routines the cast and crew had before every show helped as well; we’d toss around a tennis ball, play music in the dressing rooms, do warm-ups together, share candy and joke around in the actor’s lobby (once everyone was in costume and ready to go of course).
This show is very special to me because it kind of bookends my college “COVID-19” experience. I found this play while looking for monologues for an acting class in my sophomore year and almost performed the “discovery” monologue that Henrietta has at the end of act one. Little did I know that live theatre would be put on pause my sophomore year, and even less so that I would be performing that exact monologue on a stage in front of people two years from then. Keeping that “discovery” moment new every night was a fun challenge. Saying those lines and tapping the piano keys in front of an audience was a thrilling experience that sent chills down my spine every time. I couldn’t believe that I was doing it.