Thursday, the play opens. Which means I’ve been gone from home nearly every evening for the last two weeks. I’ll be gone even more this week, my husband is about up to his eyeballs with my wacko schedule, and I’m about shot.
(Ignore the weirdly positioned hand.)
But right about now is when things start to get fun. For the first month of rehearsals, we met in a little church. The going was tedious: line memorization, getting accustomed to the other actors, interpreting the director’s directions, puzzling through the play’s nuances, etc.
Then last week we moved into the theater and added costumes, props, music, and lights.
Now the lines flow without thought (almost) and the focus is on nailing the transitions and getting comfortable in the new space. I have an actual desk to sit behind and a swivel chair with wheels from which I dispense sage medical advice while hoping I don’t roll backwards off the stage.
I like this play. It’s funny, poignant, and earthy. The characters have depth, the set is minimalistic, the dialogue is punchy (in other words, PG 13). The plot line is this: 1) a single woman finds herself pregnant and alone, 2) she becomes friends with an intellectually-challenged young man, 3) life happens. The first time we ran the whole play off-book, back in that little church, I cried (watching it, not acting—the doctor doesn’t cry). It’s good stuff.
Showtimes are Thursday – Saturday, August 7-9 at 8:00 pm; Thursday – Saturday, August 14-16 at 8:00 pm; and Sunday, August 10 and 17 at 3:00 pm at Court Square Theater in downtown Harrisonburg. Get your tickets here!
This same time, years previous: babies, boobs, boo-boos, and bye-byes, the end, a birthday present for my brother, gingerbread, dam good blackberry pie, caramelized cherry tomatoes, dimply plum cake, Indian-style corn, tomato bread pudding, down in the peach pits, hamming up Luke, and seasonal regret.
I am a Canuck and our doctors also wear long white coats. Perhaps your director is just going with if you are handing out medical advise and the other people in the play call you doctor it doesn't matter what the length of the coat is:)
I like your shoes.
This sounds like such fun! To be in a play, and really enjoy what the play portrays must be truly fulfilling. Have you always acted?
honey, only medical students wear SHORT white jackets
I will pass this tidbit on to the director. Because I am definitely NOT a student.
But…the play is set in Canada—maybe the doctors there wear short coats?