Bats and sailors

The Pineda Lyric Young Artist production of The Bat opens next weekend.  Unfortunately, there's this little interruption called "Memorial Day" that occurs right in the midst of our tech week.  Don't get me wrong, I fully support our troops - I've dated both a Marine and a Navy man, thank you very much - but the break in the tech week schedule means Tuesday night's rehearsal - our first day back from a long weekend break - will be a guaranteed disaster.  Why?  Having worked with teenagers in shows for almost 10 years now, I have learned one thing:  unless forced or threatened, most student actors will do minimal, if any, prep work outside of the rehearsal hall.  Sure, there are the unusual students who will show up at each rehearsal off book and ready to go, but my decade of practical experience tells me not to hold my breath.

So after yesterday's run-through, which was preceded by three straight days of rehearsal, I had what I refer to as my "Juan moment."  Let me explain.  My brother, Juan (see sidebar on left), who teaches and directs students all the time, has - how shall I put it? - a bit of temper.  At around 2 or 3 days prior to tech week of any show, prompted by a missed cue, a botched entrance, the fiftieth repetition of the same stage direction or by a noisy ensemble backstage, Juan will inevitably lose his cool and go totally ape-shit on the cast.  It's actually quite scary but almost always warranted.  His face will get red, his neck will tense up and his voice will reach the decibel levels of a tornado siren. 

Though my "Juan moment" is usually prompted by a similar situation, I have the opposite reaction.  I become unusually calm, but with the sarcastic bite that only a gay man or a Real Housewife can muster.  And through a carefully worded, completely manipulative speech, I lay a massive guilt trip on the cast that would make any Jewish grandmother proud. 

So after yesterday's listless run-through, chock full of botched lines, forgotten blocking and just plain un-focused and careless execution, I gave my speech.  I immediately know my words have hit the bull's eye when I look down and see 20 pairs of puppy dog eyes looking up at me, hurt and surprised - as if they had expected me to praise their lackluster work.

Of course, I have to remind myself these are teenagers.  I mean, was I actually ever that studious and responsible when I was 15?  You bet your ass I was!  Hello, I used to lock myself in the piano room and practice 6 hours a day (not exaggerating - 2 hours before school, 4 hours after) and still maintained a straight "A" average.  Oh well, I was also considered a nerd to most of my peers.  It's a trade off.

Hopefully, last night's rehearsal was just a case of early summer-itis.  Until then, I'll enjoy the sights of the city this holiday weekend.  And by sights I mean sailors.  Yes, it's Fleet Week!  The annual event that literally brings boatloads of men in tight white pants to the center of the universe, New York City.  A gay man certainly had to have come up with the idea.  I'll sadly miss part of the weekend festivities as Trish and I will be heading to Baltimore to celebrate a friend's Birthday (report to follow), but I'll be back on Sunday night to leer at our brave men in uniform.

Happy Memorial Day weekend!