This story includes excerpts from the play
Our Town
, by Thornton Wilder. Any text in italics is a line from the play. If you don't want spoilers from the play, maybe skip this story! I used the Samuel French publication for reference. Thank you for reading!
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I was tired from moving around the country nonstop for two years working in an endless stream of regional theaters. Some contracts were a midsummer nights dream. Others made me feel like I had hay fever. I'd played huge roles like Laura in The Glass Menagerie all the way to odd servants or comedic relief characters in Shakespeare festivals.
I made friends, filled up my resume, and grinded the fuck out of my career in the theatre. It was exhausting but role offers, making friends, and seeing the country kept me going. But I found it harder and harder to stay positive. All this grinding was for what? To play bigger roles in theaters that no one's ever heard of? To serve a career that would ultimately be in New York? Maybe make it to Broadway? Was that it?
I had a feeling deep in my gut that I could do something great--so great that kids would watch me on stage and beg their parents to become actors. Great enough to make a hardened old man weep. Something great.
But my confidence just wasn't there. Something was always in my way: director was bad, cast was bad, script was bad, audience didn't understand...that's what I told myself, anyway.
I started to realize I didn't have any ownership over anything I did. I was always serving a vision greater than my own, always under someone's thumb. It was fucking deflating. Actors worship Brandos, Streeps, Cranstons: talents who wouldn't let someone boss them around. These are actors who's instincts were often on the money. But in general, actors are taught to be subservient. Go here. Talk now. Make these choices. The irony wasn't lost on me what we call a choice in the theatre.
The director is king, queen, and god to an actor. Sure, I'd worked with great directors who made you feel ownership over your work, but almost never did it feel like a real collaboration. I didn't want absolute power, I think. I just wanted respect and to feel like an equal.
And here I was about to have my first day of rehearsal playing a dream role at a dream (Regional Tony-Award Winning) theater. I don't know how I wormed my way into this contract, but here I was. I was terrified of blowing it.
I was playing Emily in a production of Our Town by Thornton Wilder. If you've never read it, I suggest you do. Act Three always makes me weep, and that's exactly the part of the play I was most nervous to perform. If Emily isn't played well, the whole play falls flat. So no pressure, right?
The director, Colm Daniels, was well-known in the theatre community. He's directed once or twice on the West End and had recently made his way to the US, doing the rounds at regional theaters in hopes of attracting Broadway or maybe a position as an artistic director somewhere. He was known to be avant-garde which was theater code for either brilliant or dumb-fuck bad. So this production could go either way.
I was picked up from a nearby airport by theater staff and driven to actor housing, my eyes out the window to see what the Pacific Northwest was like. It was pretty. Rural. Peaceful.
The housing was in a glade surrounded by pines, the ground covered in a soft layer of brown needles. My room was small but tidy. I unpacked and took out my script, leafing through the pages to look at notes I'd already written. I knew how I wanted to do this role. I just had to see if Colm agreed and if it would work with the actor playing George, Emily's love interest.
I put on a long white linen skirt, a black, fitted tank-top and brown lace-up boots for rehearsal, my long dark hair falling behind my shoulders, collarbones pronounced, a silver necklace with a turquoise pendant hanging around my neck. I checked my phone for the twentieth time, petrified of being late, and decided to make my way to the rehearsal hall a few minutes early.
The facility was pretty new, but designed to look lived-in. It had tall ceilings, warm natural light, and despite its size, felt intimate. Tables were set up in a circle for our first read-through, with name tags designating where the actors should sit. "Stephanie Dalton - Emily", right next to "Seth Logan - George". Hilarious. I bet he got Seth Rogan jokes all the time. I hoped he wasn't a douche.
Stage managers, designers, producers, actors-- everyone was filing in. Some knew each other very well and others, like me, were still outsiders. The air had a friendly-but-competent vibe.
Everyone was seated and Colm, who was across the circle from me, began introductions. He was in his mid-forties, thin, with salt and pepper hair. He was handsome. Everyone went around sharing who they were and what their role was in the production. Finally, Colm began talking about his vision. It sounded...less "out there" than I expected. The play is supposed to be bare-bones, unadorned, emotionally vulnerable, and devoid of ego. Colm wanted to lean into that.
With that, the actors begun to read.
My heart was beating out of my chest as my first lines rolled around. Suddenly, my voice was filling up the rehearsal room, a little self conscious, but prepared.
I '
m both, Mama, you know I am. I'm the brightest girl in school for my age. I have a wonderful memory.
The rest of the play flew by once the butterflies went away. By the end, the whole room was emotional. Hearing the play out loud was special for everyone there, I think.
Early rehearsals went smoothly. We got a rough sketch of the blocking (where actors are supposed to stand on stage), talked about interpretation of lines, tried a bunch of different ideas, and the atmosphere was creative and affirming. Seth was a sweet guy, turns out, and we had great chemistry on stage. He was cute too. A little jock-ish for me at first, but he was sensitive and a great listener. Our scenes weren't giving me much anxiety except for maybe our big scene In Act II. But it was coming along fine.
After a few days, we had a rough sketch of Acts I and II. Colm was quieter than I expected, but decisive when he spoke. He was a good listener, or at least good at pretending to be. I could't quite get a read on him.
At the end of week 1, we ran through Acts I and II and were left with 30 more minutes of rehearsal before end of day. Colm gave us the game-plan.
"Ok, folks. We are a little ahead of schedule, so I'd like to start Act III. We won't get through much, but let's use the time we have. If you're not in the top of Act III, you're dismissed for the day."
Our stage manager, Nancy, chimed in. "Thank you everyone, I'll send an email soon with call times for tomorrow." And with that, all but a few actors left.
In Act III, Emily is dead. But she's alive to the audience and shares the stage with other dead townsfolk. She discusses the option to go back to the world of the living and witness a day from her past. The dead warn her it isn't a good idea. But she will not be deterred. Act III is what I've been most nervous to tackle.
"Steph, let's talk about this moment. Why does Emily choose her twelfth birthday to relive?" Asked Colm.
"Emily says it's special enough to be happy, but not too consequential a day as to break her heart." I replied.
"Break her heart, huh? But she's already dead."
"She is. But the dead seem to experience pain here. Emily doesn't understand why though."
"What could go wrong, right?"
"Right."
"Ok, let's run it again."
I didn't know what he wanted me to do differently, but I was game to do the scene again.
But Mother Gibbs, one can go back; one can go back there again--into the living! I feel it! I know it! Why just then for a moment I was thinking about--about the farm--and for a minute I was there and my baby was on my lap as plain as day!
Colm stopped me.
"Ok. I see it. Steph, this is a new Emily we're meeting." He said.
"How so?"
"She's being impulsive. Emily in life is bright, rational, measured. Of course, she is plenty emotional, like any teen, but she's smarter than the rest. Why isn't she able to see the trap laid before her?"
"It's a tremendous temptation, isn't it? To watch your life unfold in front of you? And she listens to Mrs. Gibbs a bit, right? She doesn't pick the most important day of her life."
"True, but she's not really hearing. I think we need to see Emily be impulsive. I want to see that Emily isn't fully thinking this out."
"Ok. I can try that."I started the scene again.
But Mother Gibbs, one can go back; one can go back there again--into the living!...
We continued a bit further into the scene when Colm stopped us again--but before he could say anything, the stage manager made an announcement.
