Stage Fright

To avoid throwing up, you head back down to the main level to speak with your assistant stage manager. You go over with her where the specific props need to go — chair: stage left, clamp light: stage right. Not a lot of props but enough that if either was forgotten it could ruin the play. That taken care of you head out to the front of the house to check on the ticket takers. They are set and there is a decent crowd beginning to grow, you give them the go ahead to let the audience in. Again your stomach begins to churn at the thought of messing up. You tell yourself to stop thinking like that and head to the green room to give your actor his 10 minute call. He is set and raring to go, this helps to settle your stomach somewhat. You head back to the loft to take your position.

It’s show time, you dim the house lights, the audience settles, action. An important fact about this play is that the actor has the ability to turn the lights on and off by clapping his hands or snapping his fingers or by saying the word house. Its all quite dramatic but calls for good observation skills and quick delivery of cues to the lighting assistant. There is one lighting cue in the second act where the stage goes black and the actor picks up the clamp light on stage and turns it on by himself. Fortunately the first act goes smashingly You take a deep breath and head down to the stage to help with the moving and placement of props. You give it a quick once over and give the 5 minute call. You nimbly climb back up the ladder to the booth and settle in for a great second act.

It’s fantastic, the audience is totally loving it, they're laughing and interested! Alright, just 8 minutes left and we’re home free. Plunge the house into darkness and wait for the actor to turn on the clamp light. As you follow along in your script, your heart skips a beat, what the actor is saying and what the script says are not lining up! He should have turned on the clamp light two lines ago but now he is just making stuff up — what is going on? Your head snaps back up and as you peer into the darkness, your stomach begins flip-flopping and your heart is palpitating at an alarming rate. Suddenly, you realize what is going on. The clamp light is not on stage at all, in fact that prop is still on the shelf behind the stage. You are now sweating in places you didn’t know you had, you look desperately at your lighting man but are greeted by a blank stare. You quickly glance at the ladder and wonder if you really have superhero abilities to slide down the ladder and locate the light in total darkness. You look back to the stage and urgently say under your breath, "Please find that stupid light, please!" At this point there is nothing else you can do.

This is what I was faced with. I was ready to crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after me, but somehow the actor found the light, turned it on, and we were back in business. The play came to a rousing end, a standing ovation and a sigh of immense relief. I somehow got down the ladder though my legs felt like jelly. I wanted to thank this extraordinary actor to let him know how thankful I was for his adlibbing ability and nocturnal hunting skills. I pushed the green room door open and gasped. I caught the actor changing. I hurriedly expressed my apologies for not getting the light out there and thanked him, then picked up what was left of my dignity and headed home.

My reputation was shot and my grade was DOA. Or so I thought. Turns out the audience loved the improv and I walked away with an A. But, after my stint as a stage manager I decided that costume design was my true calling.