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Finally a wedge of time to write about the exhausting yet highly satisfying opening weekend of Murder In The Cathedral. Take 1:
The tech week leading up to the opening had me not so much tense as cloaked under a general malaise; the heartbreak of the election results clouded my every action in a psychic stench that was impossible to clear in those first few days post-Tuesday. The fun of my very first World Series drenched, it was hard to care about much of anything.
But following a particularly rough final dress run, opening night came with no less of the magic of any of our T@F shows. The energy kicked in, a more than respectable audience turned out, and we were off and running at a level we had never reached. Well received, we descended en mass on Redbones, the staff of which should be getting used to us by now.
Saturday began with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
guxx and I suiting up as priest and peasant woman, grabbing thick stacks of flyers, and heading down to Davis to drum up some audience for the evening. This is ordinarily a task I loathe and avoid, but someone needed to do it, and being in costume helped. Actually, it didn’t – given the immediate socio-political climate of post-election, Ari and I found out how easy it was for people to mistake us for some sort of cultish religious fanatics now free to crawl out of their hidey holes into the light of the new Republic of Jesus. His medieval priest costume was an obvious culprit, and my costume could easily be confused for the habit of a rustic sect of nuns. We changed our spiel from an understandably suspicious “Come to a show” to the blunter “We’re doing a PLAY at a THEATRE called THEATRE@FIRST please come see our PLAY written by T.S. ELIOT.” That did the trick, and people actually took our flyers.
An off-centered woman about my age in dire need of chin waxing shared the good news of Christ the Lord with us once she found out we were actors. W are now Saved. Oy gevult.
Two Saturday performances later (the first rough in that sleepy matinee way, the second ass-kicking), we were feeling celebratory and went dancing at Manray. This was my first time there, and day-um, was that fun. 80s music night… I love 80s music! … and we danced wildly like the sordid little beasties we are. I’m glad I finally found out for myself what Manray on a Saturday is like. I knew nothing of the club save for the many victimist slag stories I swallowed from a tiny handful of bitter aging Goths who are barred for life from Manray. No wonder they hate it – it’s a fun, happy and even sexy place, all in its own way. The co-ed potty would have been more comfortable if it had stall doors that closed, but when you’ve long ago put in your time at a college with co-ed everything from showers to locker rooms, peeing is peeing.
Now I’m off to a mid-week line-thru, then 4 shows this weekend. Coming? Of course you are. See www.theatreatfirst.org for details.
The tech week leading up to the opening had me not so much tense as cloaked under a general malaise; the heartbreak of the election results clouded my every action in a psychic stench that was impossible to clear in those first few days post-Tuesday. The fun of my very first World Series drenched, it was hard to care about much of anything.
But following a particularly rough final dress run, opening night came with no less of the magic of any of our T@F shows. The energy kicked in, a more than respectable audience turned out, and we were off and running at a level we had never reached. Well received, we descended en mass on Redbones, the staff of which should be getting used to us by now.
Saturday began with
guxx and I suiting up as priest and peasant woman, grabbing thick stacks of flyers, and heading down to Davis to drum up some audience for the evening. This is ordinarily a task I loathe and avoid, but someone needed to do it, and being in costume helped. Actually, it didn’t – given the immediate socio-political climate of post-election, Ari and I found out how easy it was for people to mistake us for some sort of cultish religious fanatics now free to crawl out of their hidey holes into the light of the new Republic of Jesus. His medieval priest costume was an obvious culprit, and my costume could easily be confused for the habit of a rustic sect of nuns. We changed our spiel from an understandably suspicious “Come to a show” to the blunter “We’re doing a PLAY at a THEATRE called THEATRE@FIRST please come see our PLAY written by T.S. ELIOT.” That did the trick, and people actually took our flyers. An off-centered woman about my age in dire need of chin waxing shared the good news of Christ the Lord with us once she found out we were actors. W are now Saved. Oy gevult.
Two Saturday performances later (the first rough in that sleepy matinee way, the second ass-kicking), we were feeling celebratory and went dancing at Manray. This was my first time there, and day-um, was that fun. 80s music night… I love 80s music! … and we danced wildly like the sordid little beasties we are. I’m glad I finally found out for myself what Manray on a Saturday is like. I knew nothing of the club save for the many victimist slag stories I swallowed from a tiny handful of bitter aging Goths who are barred for life from Manray. No wonder they hate it – it’s a fun, happy and even sexy place, all in its own way. The co-ed potty would have been more comfortable if it had stall doors that closed, but when you’ve long ago put in your time at a college with co-ed everything from showers to locker rooms, peeing is peeing.
Now I’m off to a mid-week line-thru, then 4 shows this weekend. Coming? Of course you are. See www.theatreatfirst.org for details.