Load Out

Closing Max & Rub

We performed in a school.

On Manhattan's Lower East Side.

In an "indoor garden."

In perhaps one of the most depressing gynmacafetoriums I've EVER seen.

...

The "indoor garden" was too small for the set.

The ceiling was too short for the roof.

We couldn't even put the "tree toppers" on our drops.

Our van got a parking ticket.

We had Fifth Graders in the audience.

The space was too echo-y to use mics.

We slipped and slid across the floors.

Our changing space was in full view of a whole section of the room.

We started fifteen minutes late.

...

And they (and we) still loved every second of it.



Kid quote of the day: After Max knocks down the castle and Grandma arrives for her show, Ruby informs her that something terrible has happened. "Oh," says Grandma. "What is it?" And a little kid announced, "Max, you've destroyed everything." Not a chance...

2000 Screaming Kids

Well, I have returned to New York in one piece, bid farewell to our vans at the Upper West Side garage and returned safely to my Brooklyn apartment. Today marked our final out-of-town performance, and leaves us with one show left before the adventures of Max & Ruby-Red are finished for this spring. However, today's show in Providence, RI, prompted a scene (of sorts) that I'd like to share. It may wind up being one of my favorite memories of the tour.

Remember this whole Blue Tarantula scene I've been talking about? Well, it all surrounds Ruby trying to get Max to take a nap, in order to calm him down, so that she can finish writing the show for Grandma. Max is riled up because his favorite radio program, SuperBunny, is on. He runs around, wearing a cape, shouting "SuperBunny" and doing the Superman flying-off-to-adventure arm thing. This repeats itself after the Blue Tarantula number and leads into a scene change. Our audiences being mostly of the six-and-under ilk, they like to chime in on this second "SuperBunny"-a-thon. And today's performance was one for the record books.

Two thousand Rhode Island children, screaming "SuperBunny" at the top of their lungs, doing the hand motions and nearly jumping out of their seats with excitement. Ben knew what he was doing, and milked it for all it was worth, while we watched from the wings, stunned. It stopped the show.

There has been some drama of late within the company, the kind of strife you'd expect from people who've been living and working together 24/7 for four months. None of which is worth reflecting on here. What we needed was a good ending to our run, something we could feel really happy with, something that would remind us why we have indeed dedicated nearly half a year to this show, and these kids, and this company. What we got today was as good a final "show in a theater" as anyone could have hoped. And, as we rolled into NYC for the last time, Sara Bareilles's "Love Song" (which has become the anthem of our company) blasting on the van stereo, I was overcome by a sense of pride in what we have accomplished. Amid the broken mini-disk players, too-small stages, car breakdowns, crappy hotel rooms, early wake-ups and long drives, we created something magical that can get 2000 kids to jump out of their seats with joy and wonder. We did it, together, without killing each other, in the most unusual of circumstances, and showed a whole new generation how amazing live theater can be. And when we officially close Max & Ruby tomorrow on Manhattan's Lower East Side, it is that sense of pride that I will take away from these months. I truly couldn't have asked for anything better.

Kid quote of the day: "SUPERBUNNY!"

Call tomorrow: 1:30pm, PS 42 Benjamin Altman School. It's time to put this show to bed.

(P.S. Exciting news! Ben, our amazing Max, was contacted by Nickelodeon to come in for a general audition. Turns out, somebody heard about/saw his great performance in our show and referred him to the people at Nick. WAY TO GO BEN!!)

The Day That Was, But Should Not Have Been

The day started well enough. I rolled out of my Cape Cod HoJo bed at 6:30am, showered, packed, grabbed a packet of PopTarts from Ben (my roommate for the night and the owner of half of the PopTart stash) and headed towards the reception area to check out and grab their version of continental breakfast. As I approached the building, however, something seemed strange. For 7am, the place was dead, and their didn't appear to be anyone behind the desk. A quick twist of the door handle proved me right: the place was locked down. However, through the windows, I spied a fresh pot of coffee, two carafes of juice and cereal. Which meant that somebody was there. My pounding on the door becoming futile, and there not being enough time to drive off in search of liquid caffeine, I angrily ate my PopTarts as I stared down the HoJo coffee machine.

Not a good start to the day.

Then we arrived at the Cape Cod Community College, which does indeed frequently get referred to as CCCC. After a lovely, fast load-in (with limited bodily harm) and a good sound check, Emileena came to us with the bad news: there were two shows scheduled, although only one was reflected on our schedules. Not normally an issue, but Equity requires that we be informed of "added shows" at least eight days in advance. So, secret balloting was held, Theatreworks was called, a little drama ensued, and we voted to do the show with some additional compensation (again, along union guidelines). Both shows went well (although everyone is pretty wiped out; we had planned for a one-show day, after all), we loaded out quickly and now we're on the road to Providence, RI, for our last out-of-town show. Which is, incidentally, one of my favorite towns.

What other wonders does this day hold in store for us?

Kid quote of the day: After the Blue Tarantula fingers popped over the wall for the second time, a little boy excitedly cried, "There IS a Blue Tarantula." Suspension of disbelief, indeed.

Call tomorrow: Unknown, as of now. I'm actually blogging in real-time from a Burger King. Classy, I know.

Barley Blooper

This was my most frustrating show yet. And not because of the space (which was lovely and large). And not because of the drive (which was short and easy). And not because of cast, crew or audience (all of whom were great). All because, in the first two minutes of the show, this happened:



Yep. I split my pants on stage. During "Looking for Max," our opening number, I have a few spoken lines with Ruby, after which I do two, level-changing "searching for Max" looks before I start singing again. During my first, when I squat down and peer off the edge of the stage, I heard a rip and felt the fabric around my butt give out. And I knew it was over.

Now, this might not seem like such a big problem, the kind of thing that a savvy actor could work his way around. Except that a significant part of the choreography I do as Barley occurs with my back to the audience, shaking my bunny tail. And, I later discovered that the split went right along the seam from my zipper to my bunny tail. There is no time for me to pin up such a long rip during the show, so there were some minor blocking changes in my later Barley scenes, both to protect my dignity, and the audience's eyes. Nobody wants to see my Theatreworks-provided biker shorts.

Emileena told me didn't notice anything, but I did see a few front-row dads looking at me funny. The whole event pissed me off backstage, and, after I realized the humor in the situation, it was all I could do to keep it together on stage. I sewed everything up this evening, although the Theatreworks costume will want to take a look at these when I get back. I hope my crude tack job holds at least through our last five shows. Because doing the show with your rear hanging out is... a little embarrassing, to say the least.

Kid quote of the day: During the Blue Tarantula: "DON'T TAKE A NAP, MAX!!"

Call tomorrow: 7:30am, Comfort Inn parking lot in North Dartmouth, MA. Our last two show day, in a really beautiful theater.

I guess this means I've gained weight on the tour, which isn't entirely a bad thing.

Chester Revisited

Remember way back at the Vans, Taxis and Three-Quarter Stages entry when I promised footage of the car issues and drug paraphernalia in Chester? Well, Sally-Swims-a-Lot blog has compiled an excellent video that sums up our day there.

Check it out here.

Introductions: Practicing Safe Sound

A warning to my more sensitive readers: this post is rated PG-13.

Tomorrow's our final travel day, and the beginning of our last week of shows, which is sort-of bitter sweet. More on that later. However, here is the long-promised blog entry about what I do offstage. Meet Assistant Stage Manager 2.

(What, you were expecting a costume?)

At the beginning of this crazy adventure of a tour, I was offered the chance to earn an extra $6 a week for acting as ASM2. You see, every actor on a Theatreworks tour is signed as an ASM as well as an actor, which allows us to do load-in and load-out under Equity regulations. That said, we all become just actors at half-hour to our places call. Except for ASM1 (on this tour, Lydia) and ASM2 (me). We can be asked to work into our half-hour, without Theatreworks having to pay us for it. And, in addition to this, we each have a "specialty" of our own: ASM1 deals with set issues, and I help with Emileena's sound set-up. Which explains why I am frequently switching out faulty wireless body-mic packs backstage, changing wires, microphone elements and windscreens and pestering my fellow actors to not turn off their mics between shows.

One of the most exciting parts of my day, however, is when I get to prepare the microphones. After Emileena has synced the mics to the receivers, she gives me a shout and I come over to work my magic. And this is how I do it:










Do I really need to say anything else?

Kid quote of the day: When Max knocked down the castle at the end of the song "Happily Ever," two boys in the front row decided not to applaud. They gave Max a big "thumbs down."

Call tomorrow: I am still awaiting Emileena's text message.

Ouch!

The day began when Leigh arrived at our van. Coughing, and a tad hoarse. This made two ill cast members (Ben has also been hacking for a few days) for our show today. Then, on our trip to Montclair, a short stop in our passenger van caused Michelle to hit her left hip. Very hard. Arriving at the theater, we loaded in (slowly and carefully; no more injuries, please), set for the show, did our best to scare up some energy (remember, I've been doing the perform-in-the-morning, rehearse-at-night thing, which zaps me) and got our show started.

And then I got hurt.

During "Looking for Max," the opening number, I wound up stepping on something sharp, which cut through my shoe and stuck itself into my left foot. Very conscious that something not-so-good had happened, I hobbled through the rest of the number, stumbled backstage for my Gracie fast change and discovered a nasty puncture wound, about the diameter of a heavy-duty staple, on the left side of my foot. Thinking quickly (remember, this is all during a timed, fairly fast change), I sprayed my foot with the isopropyl alcohol we use to clean our bunny ears, wrapped the wound in gaffers tape, changed my bloody socks, threw on Gracie and got myself on stage for the scene. The show must go on, right?

At the break between shows, Emileena gave me the first aid kit and I went hunting for the perpetrator. I found that it was, indeed, a staple, one that had worked its way out of the stage and was standing straight up, about an inch tall, with one of its sharp ends waiting to do further damage. A set of pliers and some major hefting later, the villain has been extracted and was on its way to the garbage can. Not only revenge on my part, but also a public service effort for the company. As of now, all we had that remained unharmed were two bunny scouts, and we needed to keep it that way.

We finished the day, I rehearsed at the zoo, got back to the apartment, drank wine, downed two Motrin, changed the bandages on the wound (which hurts, but is healing) and am crashing. There is a tetanus shot in my future, I do believe.

Kid (er, Parent) quote of the day: After the show, we met two little girls who had been excellent audience members. They were thrilled to meet us, and we were thrilled to meet them. When Michelle was introducing me, she told the girls that "Ethan plays Gracie, but he's not really a girl," to which one of the mothers replied, "Oh, that's just like Uncle So-and-So. He likes to wear dresses sometimes too." Hmmm...

Call tomorrow: 6:15am, Manhattan garage near Columbia. Our last local show on this tour.

Keeping It Fresh

We're into a series of local shows, which means that we do our shows at venues within relative driving distance of NYC, and sleep at home. Which, for those longtime readers, means that I am setting upwards of five alarms every morning to ensure that there are no more "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad" days. It also means that I'm very tired, as each day of shows this week is followed by a rehearsal for my summer gig at the zoo. And these longs days, I've decided, earn me a glass of wine every night before bed.

Our week started with some house-less (as in our set, not our audience) shows in New Haven and Hartford, CT. At both locations, I had friends in the audience, which was really delightful. It's amazing how hearing the glimmer of a familiar laugh, or seeing a face or even knowing that someone "special" is out there makes you want to give a powerhouse performance. And I was quite pleased with the shows I gave, and the new discoveries I started to bring to all of my characters. It's never too late to mix it up a tad, and I like the new stuff. Froggie's RIBBITs are a little different each night, which keeps me fresh and Max and Ruby excited; a few extra cowboy sounds during Cowboy Max ensures that I still love doing the number; even a slightly slower line here or a stretched vowel there makes me feel more alive on stage. And, with ten performance left, I'm glad I am still turning out shows that I like without "checking out." Which, mind you, is an easy proposition (I could do this show in my sleep), and tempting when you've risen at 4:00am to make a 6:00am van call. However, my friends, my company and (most importantly) the kids deserve a good show. And, honestly, so do I. Because (and don't let this get out) Max & Ruby is really too much fun to perform, and even in my most frustrated moments, I am dazzled by the fact that they pay me to do this. I've described our show as "crack for the six-and-under crowd," and the high is pretty contagious when you're the one dressed as a gorilla.

Kid quote of the day: As a response to Ruby's lyric, "Happily Ever, then what?," a little girl exasperatedly instructed, "Ruby! AFTER!!" Think about it for a second...

Call tomorrow: 6:50am, Manhattan garage near Columbia University.

Introductions: Blue Tarantula / Announcer

We're back in NYC for the weekend, which is a welcome break. Our shows in Lebanon, NH, were great fun! One of our audiences clapped along for every single number, which was both cool and odd at the same time, as the rhythms are a tad complicated in our salsa and blues numbers. Anyway, the kids were wonderfully refreshing, the crew brought us deep-fried apple turnover goodness as a between-shows snack and our load-out (which involved a freight elevator) took less than an hour. We did get stuck in bad traffic on the way back, and were reminded that it is important to check our clearance when you are in a tall vehicle, as we passed a Greyhound bus with its top ripped off after what appeared to be a too-close call with a bridge. Word to the wise.

Anyway, with the tour winding down, and a little free time on my hands, I thought I'd present my final character-and-a-half introduction. Meet The Blue Tarantula (and, by default, the Announcer):



The Blue Tarantula is the scary creatures that mysteriously appears in Max's room. Ruby tries to convince Max to take a nap to distract him from playing SuperBunny (his favorite radio show, and my Announcer bit). Max isn't having it, so Ruby offers to read him one book, which, after some negotiation, winds up being the Blue Tarantula. Max gets scared, but decides to reread the story himself, and "allows" the creature into his room by opening the book. Madness ensues as small kids laugh, cry, scream and pee their pants. All is well with the world.

So, yeah, I also didn't know that these guys were part of my contract when I signed on. My contract made no mention of any spidery stuff. In fact, at my fitting, I was only told I would be playing "the tarantula head puppet." Thus, you can imagine it was quite a surprise on the first day of rehearsal when Jana, our music director, started playing the underscore to the Blue Tarantula song, stared at me expectantly and said, "You know that this is your song, right?" After my first day crash course, Jeff's notes to make it "more spooky" and composer Carol Hall's advice to "sing it just like I wrote it," I think we've developed something fun and a little scary.

And then there is the head and legs. The head sits on a Styrofoam head form which has a long stick in it. (The eyes, as you have read, have taken a bit of a beating while on the road.) The legs are pool noodles covered in black fabric that are operated by Lydia, Leigh and Leah. All of this appears over the wall that opens up behind Max's bedroom set, and looks like the monster is climbing over his head and into his bed. I love puppeteering the head, creeping up slowly over the wall to get the kids to scream and then ducking down really fast, as if the spider noticed the audience and had to hide. Tracy told me my tarantula is one of the most lively they have had. I guess that summer at the zoo was good for something, right?

Oh, and the announcer? Well, he's super-nasal and super-1950s. Sounds about right for SuperBunny, huh?

Kid quote of the day: During Blue Tarantula, a little girl cried out to Max and Ruby, "Save yourselves!"

Call tomorrow: Nothing until Monday, and we don't know yet. We're headed to New Haven!

ASL

Emileena surprised us (or, at least, me) with great news this morning: our first show of the day here in Concord, NH would be ASL interpreted! In fact, we had an entire deaf school coming to see the show! COOL!

I have always been a big fan of accessibility in the theater, and getting two interpreters in front of the stage is my favorite way this happens. Probably because I like to watch them when I'm backstage (and sometimes when I'm on stage, if I can get away with it!) Anyway, our interpreters were great and really captured the sensibilities of the show. The woman interpreting Ruby captured the "ultimate patience with Max" face that Michelle has mastered, and Max's interpreter mastered the devious smile. And, in my case, I learned the signs for one of my characters:

Cool, huh?

Anyway, we've finished off our two days in Concord and now have an impromptu day off (a show was canceled) before we head to Lebanon to perform in what is rumored to be a very pretty opera house. New Hampshire looks just like I would expect it: colonial and green. Concord also seems to shut down pretty early, as our attempt at food finding proved last night. And it also appears to be McCain territory, after the number of giant posters we've seen for him. We're keeping a low profile in that regard.

Kid quote of the day: When Mr. Barley made his second entrance and greeted Ruby, a little girl started crying. I was sad.

Call tomorrow: Well, um, we need to check by noon, so, theoretically, before then.

A Job

Touring is difficult. I'm not sure that this is something I've stressed adequately in this blog. Most of you know that I am the eternal optimist and embrace the Rick Steve's "Always Say Yes" approach as much as I can in life, but I think it is worth mentioning that doing a show up to 13 times a week while loading in and loading out AND driving to your next venue (sometimes up to 8 hours) is not exactly a cake walk. And it leads me to think about a conversation I had with a patron a few weeks back.

I had come across a sponsor at one of our venues who was very excited to speak to me. She gushed about the show (which was very nice, as it had been a particularly tough performance) and then asked me a very simple, very leading question: "So, this must be just the most fun thing to do ever, right?" My instincts kicked in and I responded with mostly positive remarks, but it got me thinking. Yes, I love this show to bits and am thrilled beyond words that I am currently gainfully employed as an actor, but, just like anything else, doing the same thing over and over for months can take its toll. And it can start to feel like "a job," the same as any other. Some days, it's hard to get yourself going. And the energy of the show, in addition to our load-in and load-out, can leave you utterly exhausted. Sadly, I was starting to see myself getting frustrated and "rutted" during our local run-outs during the last few days. That, my friends, is an actor's nightmare.

And then Fairfield happened.

We had three lovely performance there, two of which were for the general public, where we actively saw kids and parents coming together. Moms, Dads and Grandma's laughing along at the PG humor with the kids sitting open-mouthed, following Max and Ruby's antics within an inch of their lives. And they applauded Max & Ruby's entrances, clapped along during our closing number and gave us such a warm reception that we all just wanted to race back out their give them a big hug. And, most tangibly, these two notes arrived backstage:

Dear Ruby,
When you said to Max to take a nap, some of the blue tarantula's legs came up and I also saw the blue tarantula's head. It was popping up its head. The blue tarantula is only fake. Please tell Max Because Max was kind of scared.
Love Kate

Dear Max,
You shouldn't have been afraid. The tarantula was very silly. The play was very fun. And you are great because you look cute. I made a SuperBunny book that has 4 pages and one chapter. And I really, really like your play.
Love Emma.

A scanned version is on its way.

If that isn't a reminder of why we do show, dress in these crazy costumes, sing along to these peppy tracks and build this monster house, I don't know what is.

Kid quote of the day: On Ruby's suggestion that Max take a nap, all the kids shouted NO and the grownups shouted YES. See what I mean about bringing people together?

Call tomorrow: 7:45am, parking lot of Hampton Inn in Concord/Bow, NH. And boy am I ready for it!

Maine / Lobster Feast / Auditions

So, this has been our run-out of Maine shows. Augusta the first day, then a quick trip to Worchester, MA (where we played in a 150 year old theater/meeting house) and finally a return visit to Portland for our final show on this run-out. After which we drove all the way back to New York. Needless to say, our return to the city was much-needed; we were pooped.

Anyway, all three days were noteworthy show-wise. In Augusta, we played on a stage set up in the middle of a basketball stadium. Which was really, really, really, really weird. Such a cavernous space is exhausting and everybody was zapped by the end. In Worchester, our 150 year old theater came complete with pictures of important dead white guys on the walls. And over 1000 screaming kids. Which definitely made us feel like rock stars. Finally, Portland held about 2000 kids on a stage that rivals anything I've ever seen in terms of depth and width. Both of the latter two spaces also had elevators for our load-in/load-out, which added an extra level of challenge. Plus, Maine is really cold, and (having just gotten back from Florida) nobody was really as prepared as we should have been.

Maine also continued to bring out the foodies in this cast. I don't think I've put this up here yet, but I've come to realize that the one thing you can sort-of control on tour is what you eat. And our cast has what a friend of mine would call "good eaters"; we know what we like and aren't afraid to go in search of it. So, being in Maine, I took it upon myself to organize a lobster dinner. We chose Portland as our location, and I got a restaurant recommendation from our super-swanky (and heavily-discounted; thanks Theatreworks!!) hotel. Leah, Lydia, Leigh and Michelle joined me for the Feast. I think this sums it up:




(I forgot my camera at the hotel, so these pictures are via phone camera. Hence the quality.)

I (and we) had a lovely time. A number of people kept the indulgence going by having breakfast in bed the next day. I opted for a local coffee shop, which was so good that I'm actually considering a return trip to Portland just so that I can have another cappuccino. Seriously, people, it was that good.

Back in the city today, four of us trekked out for an audition. Which means, apparently, there is life after this tour. Since we all got times before 10:30am, we decided that, if nothing else, this tour has taught us how to sing well and pump up the energy early in the day, thus giving us a distinct advantage over all those other folks in line. I also brought my CHA-CHING hat for luck. Everybody rubbed it before we went in. If that's not a bond, I don't know what is.

Kid quote of the day: Today, the floor creek in Blue Tarantula elicited a different response. Regarding Ruby: "Oh, now SHE'S scared!!"

Call tomorrow: 2:45pm, Manhattan garage near Columbia. We've got a 6:30pm show on Long Island. Life is beautiful.