Castmember’s Rulebook

I have been bad; I haven’t written a thing on this blog for days.

After a solid week of 4am til Midnight working days (days at my stress-filled crummy job leading into nights at my stress-filled theater job), I finally have one night off. I’m hoping to go to bed early so I can try to make up for lost sleep, but I suspect that despite my best efforts, I will simply wake up at “normal” time. I’ve been waking up with a start most mornings, having some “what if” idea plant itself in my restless head… like… what if a castmember spills something on their costume?… or tears it?… or decides to quit at the last minute?… or what if they all think I’m an idiot?… what if they never want to work with me again because I’m too bossy?… or … etc., etc., etc. Ah, the wonderfully glamorous, uncertain life of a live theater producer who will probably end up broke when all is said and done.

I keep telling myself: only one more week. I only have to put up with seven more days of this high-intensity adrenaline dealing with stupid people insanity. Then I’ll crash and burn—as happens to virtually everyone I’ve ever talked to who’s worked on on a production like this one. They bust ass to get it done, complain about how tired they are, get totally fried, freak out,… then the show’s over, the stress is gone, and they don’t know what to do with themselves. I know one guy that went into a deep, suicidal depression after a similar show closed. He was lost without it.

The good part about this craziness, and probably the only reason why anyone does it despite the fact that it almost kills them, is that every night, you have a mission. I am certainly not ever bored. The stress is not necessarily good stress, but it is definitely goal-oriented. You need a costume, you get a costume. You need a prop, you get a prop. You need a backdrop, you get a backdrop. HOW you get those things is what’s challenging. If you have a lot of money, the solutions are easier, but not necessarily so if your director doesn’t have a clear vision. Then there’s dealing with the unexpected (for instance, we still don’t have insurance!!).

This whole thing has been a real eye-opener. A real and valuable learning experience. I have been told that these lessons apply, whether you’re in community theater or equity — and, honestly, they apply in a lot of other places too.

For instance, at the end of the day I have learned about:

• Direction. Surprise! I’m actually doing a pretty fine job in my directing duties (aside from being like Stalin compared to other pushover directors in the area). I read a few articles this week on what to look for in good directors. Dependability. Honesty. Integrity. Pushing actors without embarrassing them. Encouraging their performances and not accepting it when they “call it in”. Being ahead of the curve. Handling problems immediately (no festering). Clear goals. Clear rules and consequences. Nip things in the bud. From what I read, I’m doing great except for my impatience with actor’s egos and idiocy; that’s something I need to work on. Hey, what can I say? I don’t put up with the same rubbish other people do.
• Excuses. I’ve heard ‘em all. They’re 90% bullshit—you know it, I know it, everyone knows it. As a rule, don’t make excuses. Show up. Calling in to say “I’m not feeling well” translates to “I’m just not that into your show,” which, in turn translates into not getting paid or hired again. Find a way to get there. Also, if you screw up, the director doesn’t care. Just fix it. Don’t say anything except “okay” or just nod your head. He doesn’t want to hear that you’re tired, or you had a bad day, or that your dog ran away, or you were just starting to get in character, or you’re searching for your motivation, or you think you’re coming down with the flu, or you were distracted, or you heard a strange noise, or you had a hair in your mouth, or your butt itches, or you had to burp, or you were playing it a different way, or another actor looked at you funny. Just fix it!
• Reliability. An actor that learns his lines right away and does what he is asked without argument is worth his weight in gold. Show up for all your rehearsals! Arrive ten minutes early and be ready to go on time. Don’t wander off. In this same vein, don’t quit. The crew depends on you; they cast you for a reason. Drop out and that could throw the whole production. If you absolutely positively have to drop out, call the director personally and explain yourself (and it better have blood gushing out or bones sticking out). Don’t quit to do another show or you’ll never get hired again.
• Flexibility. Shit happens. Get over it. So your director told you he was planning this glorious silk bouffant gown with 10,000 sequins and real diamond tiara, but you ended up with a polyester nightgown and a cotton headscarf. Suck it up monkey! Budgets change, locations move, sometimes your name will even get misspelled. Bend like that willow tree that you “became” in Method Acting 101 and go with the flow. If something is bugging you, don’t whine. Bring it up to the crew tactfully, with the understanding that it may be out of their control and they may not be able to do anything about it. And if you’re in the chorus, get a grip! You will have to share a dressing room, and no, you’re not going to get equal billing with the star no matter how many times you played Maggie the Cat in the past.
• Crew. Making a fuss by saying “Aw shit!” or “Crap! I can’t remember!” or (my favorite) “FUUUCK!” to the on-book person when you can’t remember your lines is considered rude (I didn’t know that). Actors should simply (and calmly) say, “Line” or “Line please” and not have a conniption fit about it. Additionally, be nice to the crew. Be polite. Never be rude, don’t make suggestive comments (you’d be surprised), and don’t get into an argument with your director. About anything. You’re tired, they’re tired—it’s a draw.
• Wardrobe. Bugging the costume designer about minutia having to do with your character’s wardrobe when there are tons of people to costume will drive them so insane they may kill you. Do not presume they know what scene you’re talking about or which costume you mean without some explanation. They’re dealing with a lot and are busy people. Do not argue with your costumer; if they ask you to try something on, just do it. It’s ugly? Too bad. Complaining about everything all the time is the fasted way to get tagged a diva. Trust that if it doesn’t fit or doesn’t look good on you, they will not put you on stage that way. Also, be expected to supply some or most of your own things if you are a difficult size to fit for some reason (either x-small or obese or disabled). Understand that most shows are done on a very tight budget (especially community ones), so whatever you can provide yourself will be a Godsend.
• Ingratiate yourself. Help carry things. Be nice to people. Do things without being asked. Be a calming force instead of a drama queen. Have extra hairpins on hand, some safety pins, and an emery board and you will be the most popular person in the dressing rooms (bonus points for a pair of scissors, a sewing kit, or hair elastics). Offer to bring in things that are needed if you have them. Offer to help whenever possible. Stop by to build sets for a few hours on a weekend—even if you can’t spend the whole day. Just a few hours will help and be appreciated, even if it’s just to run and get coffee. But don’t be a brown-nosing phony either!! Bullshit is rampant in the theater, and a good director/producer will smell it from a mile away.
• … But I hate these people! Don’t like anyone? Despise your costar? Just do your job, smile, and go home. It’s called acting. They don’t have to be your best pals, but since you will be stuck with them for the duration, being polite is a win-win. Really mad and want to vent or take it out on someone? Start a blog (hah!), but don’t gossip about anything or anybody while you’re backstage—you never know which castmember is friends with the director and/or which things you say will be overheard, so shut your yap!

The absolute best actor we have on the set—someone I would work with again and pay a premium for—is a director’s dream. Handsome and broad-shouldered (like a young Bruce Willis), he gets along with everyone, jokes around with the guys, but is always professional. He always says excuse me, please, and thank you to the crew. He was starting to get off-book right from the first rehearsal (he’s one of those people that has a mind for those things), but moreover, he’s been consistent and reliable. He has NEVER skipped rehearsal, nor has he ever been late. He’s always there for his cues, he hits his marks. He’s a solid actor who takes great direction and he delivers. Every time. He never has a bad day. When he found out we were having trouble getting costumes, he offered to provide his own and bring in extras for other people—from the very first week (he’s also letting us keep them). He never argued with me about costumes, about direction, about the condition of the theater, or anything. Of everyone in the cast, he’s hands-down the best of the bunch.

Now that’s how it’s done!