Another Opening, Another Show

In Honor of Tech Week

Opening Night for Murder on the Orient Express is this Friday, so in the grand tradition of the theater, I haven’t seen my family except for in passing for several days. “Tech Week,” as it is known in The Biz, is a time suck of massive proportions, and I LOVE IT.

Tech Week is so called because it is when the technical aspects of production are integrated into the acting aspects. Though set pieces, props, and even some effects come into rehearsal gradually, it is the weekend before opening when Things Get Serious.

On Saturday (usually) lights are hung and focused. Sound and light cues — when Emily screams, it’s time for sound cue #30 which is the gunshot, and when Aaron lands stage left, it’s time for his white light cue — are programmed into the board. The set work careens toward completion. Saturday is not for actors, unless they are doubling as tech crew.

Sunday may or may not involve actors, depending on the preference of the director/stage manager/tech crew. In college, we were always expected on this day, for the “Cue to Cue.” This involves the actors moving through the play — not acting, just being bodies — so that the lights and sound can literally move from cue to cue to figure out timing. It’s nice to have the actors there because lighting bodies is easier than yelling, “John, get over to the bed so we can tell if we can see you or not!” On the other hand, it’s nice to not have actors because… you don’t have to deal with actors.

Look, I’m an actor. But I’ve always had a tendency to cater to the crew on a show because you really want them on your side. It’s like befriending the cooks when you’re a waitress (they always helped me out when I forgot to put in an order or something) and the custodians at school (Ross has continuously tried to fix my wonky door for YEARS and finally succeeded a month or so ago!) The crew knows that I’ll try not to be in the way, I’ll take care of my props, and that I’ll thank them for saving my butt every night. Plus, they’re generally awesome people.

At any rate, Saturday and Sunday before Tech Week are loooooooooooong days. I remember feeling like I was living at the theater during high school shows. We’d all bring in food and eat in the Green Room when we weren’t needed on stage. I recall blowing up at my mom during the junior year musical because she made me come home and eat with the family on dinner break. How dare she! We would all bring homework and pretend like we would do it during the downtime, but really we were just talking and flirting and wrapping Dicky up in toilet paper to make Jessica laugh. Spending an entire weekend at the theater — instead of just a couple of hours after school — forced the cast and crew to truly jell (or gel, if you appreciate a stage light pun), which I believe is vital for the show to be ready for the public.

The Monday of Tech Week always feels like an unmitigated disaster. Actors are generally putting on their full costume for the first time, and parts aren’t working or they are missing altogether. We are also dealing with a nearly complete set for the first time and trying not to hurt ourselves (and each other) on doors and beds that slide out and walls that close in and trap you onstage in a horrifying moment of HOW DO I GET OUT OF HERE?! The light and sound tech is trying to match up cues with the action on stage, an actor realizes that they haven’t been saying a line correctly so the cue never comes, and we all feel like giggling or weeping. Our poor assistant director/assistant stage manager (clearly a masochist taking on BOTH of those jobs) is trying to answer a thousand questions while also attempting to make us feel safe and successful. The plan for the night almost always includes the choreographing of Curtain Call — when the actors come out to bow — but the task is also almost always pushed to the next night because of general exhaustion.

Tuesday usually makes me feel better. Cues continue to be ironed out as the tech learns the show and the quirks of the actors. (Silly actors.) We are more comfortable with our props and costumes. We remember the rhythm and flow of the show we’ve been rehearsing for eight weeks, and we even have the wherewithal to do the Curtain Call and pretend to clap wildly for each other.

Wednesday is a full dress rehearsal, which means that we do makeup and hair along with our costumes for the first time. We will veer back towards the disaster feelings, as we need to help each other with makeup, fix our “wrong” eyebrows, figure out how to put our odd hats on wigs and hair-sprayed curls, and everything takes too damn long and you know that one cast member won’t show up until 15 minutes to curtain and you aren’t allowed to wring their neck. (Yes, I’m thinking of a specific thespian and no, they are not from this show.) However, the run of the show itself will feel good, as we finally have all the parts of our characters together and the crew is supporting us and running like a well-oiled machine. Afterwards, we will get notes… which will undoubtedly include advising us to fix our “wrong” eyebrows.

Thursday is final dress. They say — you know, they — that it is good luck to have a bad final dress rehearsal. They probably say that because it nearly always happens. One of us will forget all her lines and one of us will split his pants and one of us will trip over the rug and all of us will start giggling in the final scene that is VERY VERY SERIOUS.

I try to talk people out of going to any production on opening night. Not that I am not eager to get our show up in front of an audience, I totally am! But I often feel that opening night is so nervy, so new, so adrenaline-fueled, that it isn’t quite the matured product that we’ll present on night 2 (and every night thereafter). However, those who do choose to come to our very first performance will see a unique sort of magic and excitement from the cast. Notice the looks of relief and triumph on the faces of the actors as they come out from curtain call — that’s an opening night feeling.

In over 20 years, my husband Dan has seen me through 7 1/2 shows (the half is a story for another day). He may have been late to the party as far as my theater career, but he gets it. He knows that he’s going to run the house for a couple of months, and that he will not see me during Tech Week. He knows to buy tickets for sometime during opening weekend but not opening night, and for the closing matinee as well so that he can help us strike the set afterwards. He knows that even though I’m run ragged and so tired and wishing I could take performance Fridays off of work, I’m also having the time of my life and he’s happy for me.

But he’ll also breathe a sigh of relief when I’m done and hope auditions for the next one are a ways off.

Thanks for reading.

Love, Susie