I am a fan. Of movies, of theater. Always have been. If I like something, I can see it again and again, much to the detriment of my bank account. Who’d have guessed that the ability to watch something over and over and over (and over) would help me keep my sanity? I am the sound and lights board operator at Penguin. I’ve done four shows—The Woman in Black (just sound), Our Lady of South Division Street, Women Who Steal, and Penguin’s current show, Tom Dudzick’s Over the Tavern.
As an audience member, it’s up to you if you see a show again. As a crew person in the booth, I’ve signed on for the entire run of the show. I have to see every performance. When Over the Tavern ends on June 13th, I will have seen it 36 times. True I’ve probably seen the films King Solomon’s Mines or All About Eve that many times, but that’s over a lifetime. I did see The Light in the Piazza at Lincoln Center 15 times, but that was over about 14 months. Over the Tavern I will have seen at least 36 times in about 6 weeks. That’s a lot.
Other than the fact that I have to be there, what makes it possible to watch a play so many times? It’s never the same twice. The actors will occasionally try something a little differently…a line faster or slower. Or an actor will mess up a line and have to recover, or a prop isn’t where it’s supposed to be. But mostly, the audience changes the show. Some audiences are quiet. Some are raucous. Some you can almost hear them listening. It’s fascinating, actually. You can feel the mood of the people as they enter the theater. Their individual personalities, or electricity, or vibe, combining and forming An Audience. I would say all of our audiences have enjoyed the play. Sometimes they are very quiet, not laughing where an audience was hysterical the night before yet jumping to their feet at the curtain call. I, of course, love the audiences that buzz…not with alcohol or anything, but with an openness, an eagerness, an “I’m ready to take this journey with you.”
Some nights I love the show. It’s always moving, funny, well-written, but sometimes it’s sloooooooow and sometimes it flies by, even though the running time varies only by a few minutes. On the slow days I daydream, or write, in the booth. I pay attention when I need to. Don’t want to miss a cue!
What the audience doesn’t see (I hope) is the small network behind the scenes. The production stage manager (PSM), the house manager, the assistant stage manager (ASM), lights/sound board operator (me!) are on headsets, chatting and getting ready to put on a show. The house manager tells the PSM that everyone is or isn’t seated. The PSM asks the ASM to get the actors in their places, ready to go on after Joe Brancato—Penguin’s founder, Artistic Director, fearless leader, father/uncle/brother, soul, and warm-up act all rolled into one—does or doesn’t make his speech. The PSM tells the rest of us what to do and when. It’s a tough job: kind of like being the brain of an octopus but with no control over your arms. I’m two of her arms. She’ll say “Stand by lights 1 through 5, house to half, house out, sound 300 to 303” and I get ready. When she says “Go,” I do it. We all work really well together, the machine behind the brave actors who actually go on stage and become the people the playwright wrote.
When something goes wrong, it’s slightly horrifying. When it all goes well, it’s exciting. My first show, I messed up a sound cue. Badly. AWFULLY. I told Joe, thinking it was better coming from me, rather than someone else telling him. “I messed up, Joe,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t yell or fire me. He said, “GREAT! It’s live theater!” Amen to that.
Penguin Rep
Joe Brancato
Matthew Hill
Samantha Carlin
Tom Dudzick
Holly Caster
