Notes from Berkeley IV.

This is what it means to be a Theatre Marine:

  • Arrive at a desolate black box of a theatre. Remember why you love this sort of thing.
  • Rearrange EVERYTHING. From the monster foot-thick flats hewn from solid oak, to the chairs in all the wrong places. The dusty old typewriters that don't really work. Hats, hats everywhere.
  • Man the chopsaw and turn out a few batches of brace struts. Try not to nip any fingers again.
  • Where the hell did they get so many Lekolites? What kind of theatre has that many Lekos and still somehow suffers from a shortage of Frenelles? Who ate all the safety cables? These are the questions going through your tech brain, as it rapidly becomes apparent that YOU constitute the majority of the light hanging crew. Roll up your sleeves, pull on your gloves, and thank your lucky stars for that handy little Gerber you still haven't lost (www.gerbertools.com).
  • Go aloft. Hang a bloody butt-load of lights under the directions of a sad ignorant insecure college student who drives a Passat (she's from Colorado). Spend hours on top of a ladder. All without forgetting any major blocking for tommorrow's performance.
  • As she re-plays her Charlotte Church cd AGAIN, you must remember not to kill any Techies. It's horrible for one's karma.
  • Rise at the hairline crack of dawn. Take a deep breath. Pull yourself together.
  • Chuck the briefcase on the truckbed and get them doggies rolling. You're burning daylight. Don't forget to pick up some chocolate on the way.
  • Hit the ground running. Stay hydrated. Look sharp.
  • Go aloft within two minutes of arriving onstage. Start re-gelling lights.
  • Set up for the re-stage rehearsal. Don't mess up the silk sea again. Rearrange EVERYTHING.
  • Now there's an audience milling around. Remember why you love this sort of thing. Triple-check your props. Make sure the Circusians get the right arrangement of silly hats.
  • Spend three hours on a hot, packed stage before an overflowing theatre doing kickass if clumsy work. Remember to rearrange EVERYTHING tommorrow.
  • Get slightly punch-drunk from exhaustion and lack of sustenance. Be grateful for the strong colleagues you do have, and remember to forget about shrill, insensitive, indecisive college students who don't really have anything to do with this project anyway. This too shall pass.
  • Eat well. Congratulate yourself on having escaped yet another grisly death. Remember why you love this sort of thing. Be ready to repeat as necessary when the sun rises again.


1 comment:

The Lioness said...

You poor man. But a grateful one at that. ;)