mekosh

No, it wasn’t a musical that lasted 24 hours. This past weekend, I took part in a stage production that spanned 24 hours from production to performance. On Friday, auditions were held for a play unknown to anyone except the directors and heads of production at 5:00 PM. At 7:00 PM, the actors were cast and the name of the show was announced. When the actors, crew, and directors returned to the Royal Theatre at 8:00 PM, we began working on A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum; it was only 24-hours before show time.

When I first heard about the 24-Hour Musical, the first thing that popped into my head was, “Who would want to watch a day-long musical, let alone perform in it?” After finding out the true nature of the show, I was impressed and excited. This is theatre designed for me: no preparation, no long-term time contracts, and all the anticipation of opening night packed into an almost impossibly short time period. How could I not take the bait?

There was an air of excitement—the kind that is always felt the day of a show—and a refreshing spirit to the cast and crew that lasted well into the night and the next morning. About 5:00 AM on Saturday, the cast was dragging and the crew was bored… it was time for a short nap. I cheated a bit and ran home for a short rest and shower, but when I returned, we were in much the same situation. I worked on the costume crew (my first time ever) with Rachael, LeighAnna, and Liana; it was a light workload for all of us, seeing as how (almost) everyone was to wear bed-sheets fashioned into togas with safety pins.

Despite the fact that the show was still looking rather rough at the dress rehearsal, the actual performance went off without any major problems. Many leads in the show held their scripts while on stage and referred to them periodically, but it was barely noticeable next to the superb acting and singing of the entire cast. Most likely, the 24-Hour Musical will translate into an annual event, considering the great success of this year’s production.

Yeah, I know this is a sketchy account of an action-packed weekend, but I’m way behind on my work right now… which is probably the only reason why I’m writing this entry. The blogosphere is a delicious way to waste the day away.

So yesterday was quite the busy Sunday for me. It started out with me oversleeping and rushing a bit to make it to the Studio Theatre in time for the Playwright’s Festival, which featured 8 Train, a play written by my good friend, C. Ryan. It was an excellent example of a one-act play, with a smooth transgression from the light and airy beginning to a somber middle and concluded with a melancholic finale that was powerful in an understated way.

And then there was the Super Bowl, featuring the Panthers, the Patriots, and Janet Jackson’s boob. By now, this old Internet is filled with pointless banter discussing every possible point of the whole deal. There are some interesting discussions that I’ve been keeping my eye on, but I don’t feel like writing anything elaborate about it. As they say, it’s all been done before.

I have been rather busy these past few days; therefore, this entry will be chaotic and will randomly jump from topic to topic. Consider yourself warned. Last Friday, I went to see The Fantasticks in the Royal Theater. I thought that the show was highly enjoyable, despite what I read in Chris Boltinghouse’s review “Fantasticks Aims in Wrong Direction” in The Aquinas. Chris ripped the direction to tiny pieces and tore a new one for director Michael O’Steen, who also happens to be my Stage Combat professor. Here’s one excerpt:

The University of Scranton Players’ production, directed by Michael O’Steen, combines a solid cast with amateurishly poor direction to generate a play bursting with misguided energy.

And an even more brutal assault:

The direction, however, severely detracts from the notable performance of the actors. O’Steen aims for mediocrity. Presenting the play in its formularized inception, with its trademark overacting and minimal set design, he avoids innovation or creativity and instead seeks security atop the laurels of convention.

Ouch. Some less critical points he made were fair, but it seems difficult to trust some of Boltinghouse’s judgements considering that he has no formal theatrical training to the best of my knowledge. In addition to that, his piece last year about how New York State was exploiting the 9-11 tragedy to bully other states was littered with contradictions and arguments that were laughable at best.

After the show, I hiked up to C. Ryan’s cast party and was one of the first few people there. I had a good time hanging out with quite a few people that I do not get to talk to very often. I’ve only seen Pat Mulhern a few times so far this semester so we talked it up a bit; he also tried unconvincingly to prove that he’s not gay by grunting and saying things like “football” and “Eagles.” I also hung out with Mary Alice for a while complaining about the trials and tribulations of the English Major. Later we provided commentary for some girl who insisted on dancing—gyrating—despite the fact that no one else was busting his or her moves on the dance floor. I saw too many other people to list, but it was definitely a good time.

Well, I’m tired and I have a long day tomorrow, so I’ll finish up some other stuff I wanted to talk about tomorrow. I’ll also upload a picture of my Introduction to Consumer Technology cheat sheet—allowed by the professor—which features six weeks of notes packed onto a half-sheet of loose-leaf. I know it’ll be hard, but try to curb your enthusiasm.