Perspective: Three Years

Provo/Salt Lake City Audition Record, July 2014 - July 2017


CAST
"Damn Yankees" - HCTO musical
"Oklahoma!" - HCT musical
"You May Now Kill the Bride" - Lifetime film
"Mosaic" - HBO miniseries
"Beau Jest" - HCT comedy
"Cabaret" - Utah Rep musical
"Jane Eyre" - HCTO musical
"RC Willey" - local commercial
"The Nerd" - HCT comedy
"To Kill A Mockingbird" - HCT play
"Bundle of Trouble" - HCT play


NOT CAST
"Marriott" - commercial (*called back)
"Les Miserables" - HCTO musical
"Barefoot in the Park" - HCTO comedy
"Over the River and Through the Woods" - HCT play (*called back)
"The Little Mermaid" - HCT musical
UPS - industrial
"Being Charlie" - Rob Reiner film
"Into the Woods" - HCTO musical
"Random Acts" - BYUTV show
"Special Helper" - film
"Magellan" - film
"AARP" - industrial
"Christmas Carol" - HCT musical (*called back)
"Blood and Oil" - ABC tv show
"Saline Soothers" - commercial (*called back)
"Peter and the Starcatcher" - HCT musical
"Robyn Hoodwyn" - web series
"Lucky John" - film
"Everyone Loves You, Sally Carmichael!" - film
"Texas Pete Hot Sauce" - commercial (*called back)
"A Summer To Remember" - film
"Cooking Product" - infomercial
"DEQ" - commercial
"I.T." - industrial
"SLCC" - youtube spot
"Deidre and Laney Rob A Train" - Netflix film (*called back)
"Brigsby Bear" - film
"Sister Act" - HCT musical
"Silent Sky" - PYGmalion play (*called back)
"Glass Menagerie" - Pioneer Theatre play
"LDS Hospital" - commercial
"Snatchers" - film
"Chatbooks" - commercial
"12 Days of Christmas" - film
"Maggie" - film short
"Poo Pourri" - commercial
"Women in Jeopardy" - Pioneer Theatre play
"King Charles III" - Pioneer Theatre play
"Utah Education" - industrial
"My Favorite Mormon" - film (*called back)
"Time Freak" - film
"The Landlord" - film (*called back)
"Plural Sights" - industrial
"Curious Incident of the Dog In the Night-Time" - Pioneer Theatre play (*called back)
"Heart of Robin Hood" - HCT musical
"Click Funnels" - commercial
"Secret Santa" - film
"Youth and Cons" - YouTube series
"Yellowstone" - TV show


Just keep auditioning, folks. Sometimes it's just a numbers game. Chin up, stiff upper lip, onward. 

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Perspective: Three Years

Hello again, and thank you.

I'm still here!

I'll write all about the roller coaster that the last few months has been, but I'll do that later. I'm still kind of motion sick from the ups and downs, so I need to take a little while to process them. Despite the rough ride, just know that there are lots of good and wonderful things in my life that make me grateful to wake up every morning.

Here are just a few of them:

1) The bedroom ceiling. 

I got a pack of glow-in-the-dark stars from Amazon.com, and spent two and a half hours covering the ceiling and upper walls of the bedroom, unsure about the result. And then when I went to bed, I couldn't sleep for a solid half hour, because I was just grinning at the ceiling. I am OBSESSED. (Note: The above picture is not my bedroom. I do not have a camera that has the ability to capture a star ceiling that well. Also, that bedroom is five times bigger.)

2) The apartment in general, actually. 
I've made a few changes around here, and it looks awesome, and I enjoy coming home to it every night. Someday I'll muster the energy to do a before-and-after blog, but today is not that day.

3) The Great British Baking Show. 

You guys. I am obsessed. I can't help it! It's so charming and British and everything is so yummy and I love cooking shows anyway, but there's none of this cut-throat American falsified DRAMA. It's just British people baking their tushes off and it's so charming. I'm in the middle of re-watching it. Already.

4) California. And family. 

The stars aligned last week and Beckah and I got to visit Mom and Ray and Oma and Opa and everyone in California AT THE SAME TIME. With our grown up jobs and grown up schedules, that's not always easy. Beckah got there the day before I did, and when they picked me up from the airport, we went STRAIGHT to the beach. Didn't even stop to drop off luggage. We also spent some time at my uncle's log cabin in the woods, and that was wonderful, too. Mad Libs and good music and books read aloud were all included, of course.

5) S-Town. 

The producers of "This American Life" and "Serial" created a new podcast called "S-Town" and it's amazing. It's one story with seven chapters, which they released all at once on Wednesday this past week, and I finished the series today. It's funny and sad and poignant and beautiful and mysterious. 10 out of 10, would recommend.

6) Curls

I love having curly hair. I had an especially good hair day today, and it made me feel especially pretty. I love days when I feel especially pretty. (Ain't vain. I just think women should spend less time focusing on what we think are flaws in our appearance and celebrating the pretty instead.)

7) The wind outside the bedroom window as I write. 
I can hear it rustling through the trees, making the branches creak slightly. It's eerie and lovely.

8) To Kill A Mockingbird

I've loved every show I've ever done. Even if it was hard or had challenges or wasn't as fulfilling, I've always found something to love, or at the very least, something to learn. But some shows just sort of stand out in your memory as special. There's just some extra magic somehow, and everyone is passionate about the work, or maybe the story means something important to everyone involved. Macbeth. Enchanted April. And now, To Kill A Mockingbird. This show came to me at a very difficult time in my life. And that's the case for a few of us in the cast...a lot of us are dealing with loss or heartbreak of some kind. It's so meaningful to have a place to go every night where we can all pour our hearts into a story...all the heartbreak and joy and anger and fear and laughter and sadness.

And everyone is SO TALENTED. These freaking little kids and tweens, even, the ones playing Dill and Scout and Jem, are INCREDIBLE. And that actually goes for everyone. We had a run-through earlier this week, and I cried roughly eight separate times? (In reality, I started crying at the top of Act Two, and sort of kept crying off and on until the end.)

I have some dear friends in the cast, and it's been wonderful to strengthen those friendships. And despite my feelings of social anxiety, I'm slowly forming new friendships, too. Most of the cast were strangers to me at the beginning of rehearsals, but I love that friendships sort of naturally form while we're all building a show. Even though I feel awkward and uncertain sometimes, I feel so lucky to be surrounded by such amazing people. People who care deeply about this work, who are funny and kind and smart.

So many members of the cast have shared what "To Kill A Mockingbird" has meant to them over the years. During rehearsals, people have shared personal experiences, poems, things they've learned, thoughts on the show. Tears have been shed. Not every rehearsal is this overwhelming emotional experience. But that's beautiful, too--the banter-y rehearsals, the missed lines, the just dragging through it. I may be blinded by my love of theatre, but I'm legitimately disappointed when I'm not called to rehearsal. During our first read-through, the director pointed out that this story is timeless, but unfortunately, it's also timely. I think all of us feel a small sense of responsibility in telling this story. It's such an honor to be even a small part of this process. I feel so so so blessed.

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Hello again, and thank you.

It's been quite a year

Obligatory annual family newsletter post. Click to zoom in if necessary. I love you all.

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It's been quite a year

The myth of progress

Listen, children. I've had a revelation. And I want to share it here.

I've been working on being a "professional actress" for a little over two years. In those two years, I've had some incredible opportunities. (This is going to sound very Gilderoy Lockhart-ish of me, so I apologize, but there's a point to this, so stick with me...) I've been on sets with Rob Reiner and Cary Elwes, I've acted opposite Michael Cerveris under the direction of Steven Soderbergh, I've done one local commercial, and I'm currently in rehearsal for my sixth stage production since moving to Utah. Which is all so so so amazing.

But there have been (and continue to be) plenty of "no's" along the way. And there's something particularly painful about "no's" that come after having success. You start to think awful things like, "I've played a lead in a Hale West Valley show, and now I'm ensemble?!" Isn't that awful? It's awful. It doesn't feel good. It isn't good. It's snobby and prideful and self-serving. So then you swing to the opposite and start thinking things like, "Those times I was cast were just a fluke. I'm not actually good. I'll never actually 'make it.' I truly deeply suck." Which also doesn't feel good. Both of those philosophies distract from doing the actual work of acting.

So here's my realization. I've been thinking of acting in this "linear progress" kind of way. Something kind of like this:

(Don't judge my hasty clip art illustration.)

And it makes total sense that I would think that way. There are plenty of forces at work to put this idea in my head. Darwin, for one. This is the subject of a Master's thesis, so I won't go into details, but there's this weird idea that people seemed to take from the theory of evolution, and that is that everyone and everything is working towards becoming more "advanced." And it's all tangled up with fairly recent ideas of imperialism, too...that some societies are more civilized than others, and that they can bring civilization to the primitive peoples of the world.

Not only is Darwin and imperialism at work, but all of the mythos of the American dream centers on the same idea of progress, of slowly rising to the top, out of your own hard work. And this is how most other industries work. You slowly get promoted until you're at the top. If you don't get to the top, well then, you didn't deserve to be there, or you didn't want to be there.

But for acting (or a lot of other industries, actually), I don't think it's quite an accurate way of looking at things. And I don't think it's quite as healthy a way of looking at things, either. There are a few accurate things about it, but I think it's mostly problematic. It allows for both pride ("I'm at the top!") and self-loathing ("I'm at the bottom!"), and it creates a world in which we set people up as "better" than others. It oversimplifies things, and ignores all of the other factors that go into casting. It doesn't leave much room for complexity. It also doesn't actually reflect reality. You don't move steadily up that green arrow. But when we think of acting in this way, we're filled with resentment when we feel we've moved "down." Because "that's not how it's supposed to work! I'm supposed to work hard, get better, keep getting bigger and better roles, and then I'll make it!"

So, maybe it's better to look at progress in acting in a more "cyclical" way. Something like this:

(More clip art action.)

If you think of acting this way, there's less feeling of "I'm not making progress." There's less resentment when you get a smaller role than you think you "deserved" or when you don't get cast. You take the incredible opportunities that come to you without thinking they're owed to you. You can't think of yourself as above someone else on some march of progress to the "top" when they're just across from you, or next to you. And if you keep your own acting goals in the center, then everything you do can be seen as moving towards that somehow.

Fame and fortune and success are strange, often impermanent things. John Travolta was nominated for two Academy Awards. He also made multiple talking baby movies...between Oscar nominations. If you think of acting progress in that linear way, those are steps backwards and jumps forwards...the momentum is exhausting.

Of course, it can also be exhausting to move around the circle above, too. Especially if you spend a lot of time in the "not being cast" portion of it. That's hard. And the only thing you can do is be patient and keep trying. I have a friend who recently moved to New York to pursue acting. She said that when she's talked to people, they all say, "You've got to work steadily at this for ten years. If you can stick with this for ten years, you can make this your full-time job." But most people only give it a year or so. A year isn't long enough. You've got to keep yelling "F*** you, Matt Damon!" until you're where you want to be.

There's also the very real possibility that doing this relentlessly for ten years will take too great a toll on you. It could be that the exhaustion of moving around that circle of progress is greater than the reward. It's a scary thing to realize--that you might need to take a step back, adjust your goals. There are two kinds of dread when it comes to doing that: the dread that you're giving up too easily, or the dread that comes from giving up a dream you've held onto for so long, even if it doesn't fit you any more. What will people think? Who will you be if you don't hold this dream? But you will suffer less if you listen to your own intuition, try not to give a damn about what other people think, and make the choices that will make you happy and whole.

I'm still trying to shift my own paradigm here. But this change in thinking has already helped me find peace, helped me live in the moment, helped me do better work onstage and be a better person offstage. I hope it can do the same for you.

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The myth of progress

The "no's" that hurt

Acting = lots of rejection. We all know this. It’s part of life in the arts, blah blah blah. I’ve gotten to be pretty good at dealing with it, but sometimes there are “no’s” that hurt more than others. In an effort to embrace some sense of catharsis and to be honest about my journey as an actress, I thought I’d share a few “no’s” that hurt.

(Wait. I need to make a disclaimer. I 100% respect the casting choices made by the producers in all of these cases. I don’t share these stories to say “I should have been cast!” or to complain or to talk down these producers or theatres. It’s no director or theatre’s “fault” that I didn’t get the part. I’m just trying to be honest about my experiences as an actress and what I learned from them.)

#1. “Les Miserables” at Hale Center Theatre Orem, 2014
I auditioned for this show shortly after playing Sister in “Damn Yankees” at this same theatre, with this same director. Madame Thenardier is one of my DREAM roles, and I was like, 95% certain I’d make it. So when I didn’t even get a call-back, I was pretty crushed. But here’s the reality—I was still in “BYU-I mode,” where if I didn’t get cast in one show, I was almost CERTAIN to be cast in the next. I’d gotten cast in the FIRST thing I auditioned for in Utah, and so there was nothing in my experience to teach me that my being cast wasn’t guaranteed. So I did a mediocre audition, counting on the director knowing me to get me through. But I didn’t do anything in my audition that showed I could play Madame Thenardier. I didn’t do anything in my audition that showed that I was willing to work hard. I didn’t do anything in my audition to show I cared enough about this to give a stellar audition.

This one hurt because it was a dream role. But it also hurt because it was the first time I had to face the reality of rejection in the arts…like, REALLY face it. It was the first time I realized I couldn’t count on the director knowing me, and that I had to truly bring it to every audition, every time. It hurt to learn those things. (But I’m damn glad I did.)

#2. “Peter and the Starcatcher” at Hale West Valley, 2016
This one hurt only because it came right after “Beau Jest,” and I was so in love with “Beau Jest” that I just didn’t want to stop coming to the theatre. I know that there is no role for me in that show—I don’t think I would have made a good Molly. But a few of my “Beau Jest” family members were cast in the show, and it was a little heart-breaking to watch them get to keep doing this thing I love, while I sat at home at night. I had a similar experience with “Christmas Carol,” right after “Oklahoma”…I just loved doing shows at the theatre so much that I didn’t want to stop.

#3. Netflix Original Movie, 2016
Oh man, this one was tough. I won’t go into the details of which film this was, but I’ll say this. My initial audition was one of the best auditions I have ever done in my life. It feels so boastful to say that I nailed the audition, but…I nailed that audition. I was called back on the spot. For a NETFLIX ORIGINAL MOVIE. It wasn’t a huge role, but it was a decent one. Like, I would have been on set for probably 3-5 days. And I nailed the call-back, too. The call-back was with both the casting director and the film’s director, and after I read, the director just looked at me and said, “That was perfect. I have NO notes. So…tell me more about your experience?” We chatted, and I left feeling really really really good about it. I was one of the last people seen that day, and when I signed out, I discovered that I was the ONLY person called back for that role. I knew nothing was guaranteed, but everything about the experience gave me this sense that I had a really good chance.

Here’s the thing about film/television. Often, they’ll cast everyone ahead of time, maybe have a table read, then start shooting. But sometimes, for smaller roles, you won’t hear until later. That happened to me with “Mosaic.” I auditioned in August, they started shooting, and then I got a call saying, “You’ve been offered the role. Can you be there on Thursday?” So when I heard that the Netflix original I had auditioned for started shooting, I was like, “Okay. So I probably didn’t get it. But maybe!”

I had a friend who was a PA on the show, so he kept posting pictures on Instagram of the shoot, and I kept waiting to see if I got the call. Then another friend posted about how she was called in to be a featured extra on the movie. Then another friend posted about landing this amazing speaking role in the movie. And I just kept waiting, and waiting, and waiting, just on the off-chance that I was still cast somehow. I’ve learned that star power carries a little more weight than talent/being right for the role, so I knew that if they got someone with more credits, with a more well-known face and name, they would get the role. But I didn’t want to be the needy girl texting my friends on the project, saying, “Hey, do you know who they got to play ____?”

And then, finally, my PA friend posted about “wrap day,” the last day of filming. And I hadn’t gotten the call. I didn’t get the part. I looked up who DID get the part on IMDB, and she definitely has way more credits than I do. Which is fair enough. And I’m sure she was awesome. She had a great look for the role, and I’m sure I can learn a few things from watching her (and my other friends) in the movie when it came out.

There will be other chances for me, I know. I just want everything NOW.

#4. “Sister Act” at Hale West Valley, 2016
It’s kind of taken me a while to really realize how this one hurts. Present tense, because it’s opening in a few days.

This partly hurt because this “no” came towards the end of this weird sort of surge of “no’s” that I experienced in June and July this year…it just felt like one after another. So not getting called back for “Sister Act” felt like I was being kicked while I was down.

I really, 100% really do understand why I wasn’t cast. My audition was…not great. My song choice was okay, but in retrospect, maybe not the best. And I didn’t sing it well. (In fact, I bombed the ending—played it off as comedy, but I still bombed it.) I didn’t act it well. And even if I had, there is nothing I could bring to the show that someone else couldn’t bring just as well. And “Cabaret” conflicted with like, the first three weeks of “Sister Act” rehearsal (almost half of the rehearsal process). So even if I did have a really great audition, if there are other people who could bring what I could to the show who could be THERE for the entire rehearsal process, then of COURSE, they should be the ones with their names on the list.

But it still hurt. (Hurts.)

My sister and I grew up with the movie “Sister Act.” It’s a huge part of my childhood. There are some significant differences between the film and the musical, but I still feel the same sense of nostalgia. And the messages of “Sister Act” are so beautiful and important to me…messages about being yourself, about worshipping in your own way, about allowing others to express their faith (or lack thereof) in ways that are meaningful to them. About worrying less about appearances and rules and more about genuine spiritual experiences. And those are messages that are especially needed in the Utah community where I live, and it would have been a beautiful privilege to be a part of sharing it.

And some of my dearest, dearest friends are in the show…people whom I love and admire for their work onstage and their friendship offstage. I’ve been so blessed to make some amazing friends since moving to Utah…it’s one of the greatest blessings of my life, in fact. So I feel a little sad that they all get to tell this story that I love together, and that I can’t be a part of it. And from all the posts I’ve seen on social media, it seems like this show is a really special experience for everyone involved. It seems like it stands out for the cast as a really unified production, and a really fulfilling experience, and one that means a lot to them. I’ve been in shows like that…where everyone just sort of feels that this cast is special, and this show is different from the others they’ve done. And I wish with my whole heart I could be a part of this one.

I don’t begrudge my friends the experience. (Friends in “Sister Act,” if you’re reading this, PLEASE don’t feel weird or bad or anything! Don’t stop posting, don’t stop loving your experience, please continue to embrace it for all that it is. Embrace it MORE for what it is.) My feelings aren’t jealousy—I don’t want to take away something you have and have it for myself. I just wish I could share it with you. I’m excited to come watch your work, regardless, though.

The positive thing is that each of these “no’s” also led to other “yes’s.” Whether that means being involved in other projects, or having the chance to take a class, or to focus on writing or school or my family. And each of these “no’s” did teach me something about being an actress, whether it’s to bring your A game to every single moment of every single audition, or that sometimes, you’re just not right for a part, A game or not. To the people who didn’t cast me in the past, or won’t cast me in the future, either way, I have an opportunity to learn and grow, and I respect your choices. I’ll keep learning. I’ll keep working. I’ll keep auditioning. And I’ll probably keep hurting every now and then. But it’s totally worth it. You’ve got to get through the “no’s” to get to the “yes’s.” And I’ll keep doing that. I don’t know how to not keep doing that.

Post-script: It felt really good to write all of this out. I've been catharsisized, and I feel better about life in general already. 

photos via this guy and this guy

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The "no's" that hurt

A Letter to the Upcoming Generation, inspired by a recently completed MFA class called "The Rock Star Poets and Writers"

Dear teenagers of 2016:

If I were truly an authentic, this letter would be handwritten, in a red spiral notebook, Kurt Cobain style. I’d write it in crayon, like Jack White did his receipts when he worked cutting fabric and stapling around the corners of sofas. Or on hotel stationary like I was Bob Dylan and it was 1961 and I was playing shows in Greenwich Village.

But I'm lazy and this is a blog, so typed it is.

In true “Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul” style, here’s my advice for you upcoming poets and rock stars.

1. Find inspiration everywhere.
Read Shakespeare, and Rimbaud, and Dylan Thomas, and Jack Kerouac. Listen to Iron Maiden, and Pete Seeger, and David Bowie, and Prince. Let all of their words and melodies tumble around inside of you. Let yourself re-tell their stories. Try on their style. Write a poem in the cosmic style of Walt Whitman. Try writing a beat poem and perform it like Allen Ginsberg. Turn on Nirvana, and scribble your thoughts as it plays in the background. It’s like visiting a thrift store…everything has already been used, but you can try things on for size, make alterations, create new combinations. Some things will fit you better than others. But you might discover that something unexpected looks amazing on you. Something that, on the hanger, doesn’t seem to be your “thing.” But it could be that you ROCK those billowy sleeves. Just try things on. Impersonate those who have come before you. You’ll find your own style eventually.
Pete Seeger wrote a song based on verses from Ecclesiastes. Simon and Garfunkel wrote a song based on the poem “Richard Cory” by Edward Arlington Robinson. But you could take more indirect inspiration as well. Lana Del Rey drew inspiration from Walt Whitman’s “I Sing the Body Electric,” and wrote a song playing with some similar themes and images. Paul Westerberg’s song “Crackle and Drag” is inspired by Sylvia Plath’s poem “Edge.” You could “translate” a poem by just adding music, or draw your inspiration from one or two lines.

2. Your poetic voice can support the status quo, question it, or be a part of the human machine that destroys it.
Your words can be Woody Guthrie’s guitar…the “machine that kills fascists.” Don’t feel like you have to stifle your rage. Write about black lives in America. Write about college rape culture. Write about abortion, and Wall Street corruption, and redlining, and the public school system, and the shitty way the United States treats Native Americans. Poetry is not limited to noiseless patient spiders and suicide. Let your anger flow from your spine into your pen. Scratch deep into the paper. Shout about the way things are until they change.
Sisters of Mercy wrote “Dominion/Mother Russia” about the Cold War. Siouxie Soux adapted Abel Meeropol’s “Strange Fruit,” a harsh look at the treatment of black Americans in the South. Plenty of these artists also wrote about love and breakups and the usual pop topics. And that’s fine. But you don’t have to limit yourself to those topics.

3. Don’t let stereotypes destroy your creativity.
You don’t have to be Hemingway, piling up empty bottles. You don’t have to open your heart or legs to violent passion like Rimbaud. You don’t have to make a permanent stop in the woods on a snowy evening like Cobain or Plath or Sexton. Beware the harsh light of fame. Despite the viciousness of the artistic life, fame is far more destructive. You set the terms. Guard the terms of your fame fiercely.
I think Kurt Cobain both wanted and didn’t want fame. I think he wanted to be known and loved, but didn’t want to be the symbol of his generation. (Same with Bob Dylan.) It can be easy to get caught up in those tensions, but you don’t have to. Just follow your voice, even if it leads you away from the spotlight. Your work is more important than your fame.

4. On a practical note, be intentional about stanza length in your work.
Many poets insert line breaks where they “feel” them in the content, where there’s a natural pause. (And by “many poets,” I mean me, specifically. I’ve been writing poetry consistently since 1998, and this is the first time I’ve considered that even in free form poetry, line breaks make a difference.) This has an effect both visually and rhythmically, one that you may not intend. There is something powerful in being consistent in stanza length. At the very least, be intentional. If there is no pattern to stanza length, make sure you have a good reason for it. Is the work supposed to be disjointed and chaotic? Or tidy and clean? Don’t let line breaks distract from the message and meaning of your poem. Stanza length is another tool in your poetry writing kit…it’s like clothing. You’re saying something about yourself, whether you intend to or not. If you ignore your clothing, you’re sending the message that you don’t care. Same with stanza length.

5. Cut the extraneous stuff.
Listen. I know. These are darlings and it’s hard to kill them. This is the lesson that I have to relearn over and over and over again. Maybe you’re used to prose poetry, or maybe you just make pets of pretty, docile words. As an exercise, try this: Write a poem, then let it sit for 24 – 48 hours. Don’t even look at it. Don’t re-read it, don’t leave it out where it can be glanced at. Then go back and cut it by a third. Ask yourself: “If an editor demanded a word count limit that’s less than what I have, what would I keep?” Trim until the poem is tidy. Condense meaning until it’s compact and hard and dense. Say what you need to, and then get out of there.

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A Letter to the Upcoming Generation, inspired by a recently completed MFA class called "The Rock Star Poets and Writers"

"In a pair of lacy pants": A Defense of Being the Mormon Cast Member in Cabaret

If you follow me on other forms of social media, you may have noticed that I'm in rehearsals for Cabaret with Utah Repertory Theatre. I'm in the ensemble, playing one of the Kit Kat Klub girls, who works in the nightclub in "a pair of lacy pants." (Incidentally, this is the one show I've done in the past several years that my dad and stepmom are able to come see. The one where I'm dancing in my underwear. I gave my dad fair warning, and he replied that he's not prudish, and truth be told, he knew me as a toddler, and has seen me dance in less than my underwear. Fair enough.)

You may be thinking, "But Liz! 'Cabaret' all sex and stuff! You're a True Believing Mormon! What are you doing dancing in your underwear?!"

I'm dancing in my underwear because I believe in the story that Cabaret tells, and I think it's important.

Here's my philosophy; the six main ideas behind my decision to do Cabaret.

POINT #1: THEATRE CAN TEACH AND INSPIRE AND MAKE US BETTER HUMANS

Brigham Young once said, "Upon the stage of a theater can be represented in character, evil and its consequences, good and its happy results and rewards; the weakness and the follies of man, the magnanimity of virtue and the greatness of truth. The stage can be made to aid the pulpit in impressing upon the minds of a community an enlightened sense of a virtuous life, also a proper horror of the enormity of sin and a just dread of its consequences. The path of sin with its thorns and pitfalls, its gins and snares can be revealed, and how to shun it."

And I agree. But I don't think that limits valuable theatre to ONLY "The Testaments" and the Nauvoo Pageant. Mormons don't have a monopoly on truth and virtue. We can learn important lessons about how to be smart and kind humans from so many sources, including shows like Cabaret.

POINT #2: NO DARKNESS --> NO CONFLICT --> NO DRAMA --> BAD THEATRE

Therefore, actors are needed to play the parts that aren't always saintly. If the Bible was made into a stage play, SOMEONE would have to play Jezebel. You simply can't have good storytelling without including people making bad choices.

(And to be honest, I don't even know if my character's choices to work in a nightclub are all bad. I haven't decided yet.)

Sometimes there are just characters making choices, and you as the audience can evaluate if they're good or bad, or why they made them, or how you can live your life differently because of their example.

POINT #3: IT'S PRETEND

I just finished a play wherein I set things on fire with the intention of killing people. The play before that, I kissed two men who were NOT my husband. Those are both bad things in real life. Significantly worse things than dancing in my underwear, if we're being honest. But it's not REAL. I can't bring myself to believe I'll be held accountable for things I'm doing in character. There are a handful of things I don't think I will ever do onstage or on camera, but the majority of them have to do with whether or not I feel the work is valuable.

POINT #4: I BELIEVE IN THOUGHTFUL STANDARDS THAT NOT EVERYONE HAS TO SHARE

If you're uncomfortable with shows like Cabaret, I think that's okay. You have a right to abstain from the things that don't feed your soul. You also have a right to do so free from judgement. But that judgement needs to go both ways. Others have a right to participate in things you feel uncomfortable with. I, personally, don't feel uncomfortable with the content of Cabaret. I've thought and studied and yes, even prayed, about this decision for myself. I won't be offended if you don't agree with the content of the show, or feel uncomfortable, or don't want to see it. (I'm a little offended by the idea that you might think I'm a heathen for participating, because I feel it doesn't give me due credit, but that's my own issue.)

POINT #5: I ALWAYS WANT TO GROW AS A PERFORMER

I haven't played a dance-heavy role since...2006? After several injuries in my early twenties, I shifted my focus away from dance and more towards acting and singing. I still enjoy dance, and I'm fairly decent at it. But this show will push me to re-awaken and strengthen skills that have laid semi-dormant for a decade. Skills that I know will make me a better performer. And it gives me an opportunity to explore and shape a character unlike any I've played before. I want my acting jobs to push me into new territory, to force me outside of my comfort zone just enough to help me grow.

POINT #6: RELEVANT ART SHOULD BE DONE

When we had our first meeting as a cast this week, the director and several cast members talked about the deep need they (we) feel for this show right now. Because here's what Cabaret is actually about:
- It's about the dangers of nationalism, when it runs unchecked.
- It's about what happens when a leader shows up and promises to fix the problems of a lot of people who are underemployed, disenfranchised, and angry.
- It's about blaming an entire group of people for the problems of society.
- It's about a time and place in history when LGBT rights were being fought for, and sexuality and gender was being researched and honored, and the LGBT community was given a safe haven from bigotry, before a World War sent the entire movement underground again.
- It's about joining the crowd without trusting your own heart and conscience first.

Those are lessons we need now and always. As the granddaughter of German immigrants, as an LGBT ally, as a citizen of the United States, and yes, as a Latter-day Saint, I feel a duty to share these lessons. It really is okay if you feel uncomfortable about the context in which these lessons are shared. But for me, I'm grateful for the opportunity.

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"In a pair of lacy pants": A Defense of Being the Mormon Cast Member in Cabaret

Forward. Stop. Reverse. Forward, forward, forward.

Yesterday was like an emotional game of Simon Says. "Simon Says make long-term plans!" "Change your long-term plans!" "Wait, Simon didn't say!"

Here's where yesterday started:

In the front seat of my van, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for the 35-minute commute to my new job. In order to communicate the insanity of yesterday, I should also mention what's not pictured: me going on roughly 3 hours of sleep, attempting to deal with debilitating allergies/a possible sinus infection, and some residual back pain from a displaced rib.

But I was choosing to be positive.

Yesterday was my first day as a Special Ed Paraeducator at Dan Peterson School in American Fork. I accepted the job about a week ago--I subbed for several weeks before being offered a position as a classroom aide. The day went fairly smoothly--I filled out paperwork and spent the day in a class where I had subbed before, feeding, changing, repositioning, and working with secondary and post-secondary students.

Then in the afternoon, I got online to start my MFA homework. And learned that I was actually able to take an additional class, which would allow me to graduate an entire semester earlier than I had planned. And that I had enough financial aid to live off AND take that extra class.

I had known about the financial aid, but not about the class. And the class was the straw that broke the camel's back--it clarified for me something I already knew in my gut, but was too afraid to admit.

It just didn't make sense for me to be working almost 30 hours a week at a job I didn't necessarily need, when I could be spending that time advancing my MFA. Especially when I was already spending 20-40 hours per week working on a show. Especially when I already had a job at University of Utah, which would force me to get a sub for two or three days per month if I was working at Dan Peterson. Keeping the job at Dan Peterson meant spreading myself so thin, trying to walk towards so many mountains at once. It made the most sense to quit the job at Dan Peterson.

But what a sh*tty thing to do--quit a job on the first day. And it was an awesome job. A beautiful job. I loved the kids. I still do. Those sweet students. Working at Dan Peterson felt, for all the world, like Alianza--a group of smart and caring people doing some amazing things in the world of education. I felt welcomed and at home, and it was so rewarding to do that work, even in the moments when it was difficult.

I spent an hour or two agonizing over my decision, thinking, talking with Jacob, praying. Quitting the job at Dan Peterson made the most sense, emotionally, financially, professionally, mentally, and spiritually. But I hated to put the school in such a terrible position--without an aide, AGAIN, for who knows how long until they could hire someone else. My ego was afraid of what everyone would think--that I was flaky or unprofessional or weak-spirited or selfish or any number of things. What would the principal think? The teachers? The other aides? And my heart didn't want to leave those students, or that place of belonging.

But I had to move toward that MFA mountain.

So I called the principal and left a message, apologizing and inarticulately tendering my resignation. She called me back shortly afterwards, expressing understanding but saying she was sorry to see me go. I originally thought about trying to stay for a few extra days this week, just to keep them from needing to find a sub, but my MFA classes began already. And it's tech week. If ever I needed the time to devote to school, it's this week. So that was it. My first day at work was also my last.

After that horrible phone call with the principal (horrible only because it was so difficult), I did my homework, tried to eat some dinner, then went to tech rehearsal for Jane Eyre, where I stayed until almost midnight. (And where I also gave an abbreviated explanation of my situation to several kind people who asked how my new job was going.) And then I drove home--listening to the BBC for the 45-minute commute and eating Reeses Pieces to stay awake.

Here's where yesterday ended:

In the dark, around 1 in the morning, barely awake, physically and emotionally exhausted, sitting in the front seat of my van, trying to muster the energy to get into the house and go to bed.

I stayed in bed for as long as I possibly could this morning.

Then I drove to Dan Peterson School again, this time to fill out resignation paperwork. The staff was kind and understanding, and said they would welcome me back when I was able to work again. I thanked them for everything, then left the office. Halfway down the hallway, I glanced over my shoulder at the classrooms where I would have been working. J's class, with her sweet students, where I subbed for weeks and felt so much love and belonging. T's and K's class, where I would have been spending my days, with those students who were smart and funny and rebellious. I took a step towards those rooms at the end of the hall, wanting with my whole heart to just say goodbye, to say thank you. But I couldn't quite bring myself to do it.

A small part of me was afraid of what the teachers and aides would think--I didn't want to face their possible judgement, both for leaving and for visiting their classrooms to say goodbye. But ultimately, I didn't do it because I knew that it's very likely that I will never see those students again. I have never been good at goodbyes. I hate them, because a goodbye is never as fulfilling as knowing you'll see someone all the time. I can never say enough, or say what I mean. And in the case of some of these students, they might not have heard or understood me anyway. And it would have been selfish of me, to interrupt their school day and their routine just to attempt to satisfy my need to...I don't know, have a grand gesture of closure.

It's possible that I'll work for Dan Peterson School again someday. But I don't know when, and I don't know which students will still be there. Some of them may move. Some may graduate. And the harsh truth is that some of them may die. Dan Peterson School is a place for students with both mental disabilities, and physical disabilities. Some of them are considered "medically fragile." Some of them have DNRs. The staff regularly deal with seizures and falls. So I knew that if and when I return to the school, it won't be to this same situation, to these same students.

So I walked out to my van and drove to the library to do my homework, crying the entire time.

I know, ultimately, that this was the right decision. Working at Dan Peterson School was the right thing at the wrong time. I would have been just as heartbroken to give up additional schooling. This was a difficult choice between two very good things. I'm sad to have to give up one of them.

But I'm also so blessed. I get to do other things that I love--I get to act, onstage, and even be paid for it. I get to write and study and read and learn. I get to choose my own schedule in some ways, as I pursue my degree. I've got an incredible husband--this amazing companion, this best friend that will listen to me cry and let me talk through things when I'm in crisis. I get to spend my evenings in a theatre, surrounded by brave and kind and talented people, telling stories. And I'm healthy and well-fed and I have a working car and clothes and enough cash to make ends meet. I clung to all of these truths with so much gratitude all day yesterday, and I'm filled with them today.

So here's to grad school, to theatre, and to everything else I'm lucky enough to have.

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Forward. Stop. Reverse. Forward, forward, forward.

Multiple Mountains, or "Having It All"

I want to publish a novel.
I want to work in education.
I want to finish my MFA in Writing.
I want to get an MFA in Theatre.
I want to act.
I want to direct.
I want to have and raise children.
I want to travel.

And I want it all now.

First of all, I should acknowledge how awesome it is that I live in a time and place that all of these things are even available to me. For so many centuries, these things wouldn't have been possibilities for a woman. And so many of them still aren't, for so many people. So it would be obnoxious for me to not acknowledge the incredible levels of privilege I have. I'm a white, lower middle-class, college-educated woman living in the United States. So much is within my reach.

My problem is that I want to reach for all of it RIGHT NOW.

Jacob and I are in an interesting time in our lives. Jacob's waiting to hear from one more grad school before making a decision. I'm in the process of getting my MFA online. I'm getting acting work fairly consistently. We've got enough income to cover our bills, and we have some to spare most of the time. We're leaving our twenties behind and entering into our thirties. Many of our friends are still unmarried undergrads, and many others have 3 or more children and are well into their careers. We've been married for almost 6 years, but we know that it's not quite the right time for us to have kids. (Even though I'm keenly aware of the expiration date on my ovaries, and it stresses me the hell out. I'm trusting our timing, though.)

A while ago, I wrote a blog entry about Neil Gaiman's philosophy of always "moving towards your mountain"--making sure that everything you do is helping you move towards what you ultimately want to be doing with your life. And I still believe in that philosophy.

My problem is that I have, like, 8 mountains. And there are times in my life when I'm feeling pulled towards all of them at once. Which ultimately leaves me feeling a little paralyzed, since I inevitably sometimes have to move away from one mountain in order to move towards another. Sometimes they're not lined up neatly.

All of this is on my mind because of A) Jacob's grad school possibilities, and B) I have a possible job opportunity that would move me towards the education mountain, but away from some of my other mountains. And the education mountain is like, 90% ideal, with the possibility of becoming 93% ideal in the future, but it's not 100% ideal, and that's giving me pause, especially if it means moving away from other mountains. AND I'll still be pursuing the MFA in Writing mountain and the Acting mountain, too, and I'm a little uncertain about my stamina.

But I want all the mountains!

I decided a few years ago to remember that I can live my life on my terms...that I shouldn't ever blame my circumstances when I'm not getting what I want out of my life. There are times when you've got to make sacrifices, or put one dream on hold in order to pursue another. I'm just trying to decide whether or not to do that, and writing it out helps me make decisions. Especially when those decisions have deadlines. So here we are. Sitting in the Orem Public Library before rehearsal, blogging about life decisions and waiting to see if anything feels more solid as I type.

Confession: At the end of this blog entry, I'm not any nearer to making a decision. But I do feel a little bit less overwhelmed about it all. I feel like my vision is a little clearer, and I have a little more confidence in my ability to make my decision.

Thanks for coming along for the ride, I guess. I'm glad you've stuck around. I'll keep you posted on which mountain(s) I'll be focusing on.



photos by Steven Taschuk, Kamil Porembiński, Alper Çuğun, E M, Drregor, gwenole camus, Arild Storaas, Thangaraj Kumaravel, Henry Hemming. VIA Flickr

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Multiple Mountains, or "Having It All"

Playing With Fire (And Winning)

Writing comes to me in phases. And I think it's a sort of feedback loop, too...the more I write, the more I want to write, and the more I want to write, the more I write, etc. And I just haven't been writing as much, so this blog has been quiet. But I'm aiming to change that.

(Although I don't know why I'm blogging right now. I'm having one of those times when my brain is struggling with sentences. This happens to me now and then, when I'm very tired. I just can't quite get English to work right. But f*** it, Ima publish this anyway.)

Anyway, I'm playing Bertha in "Jane Eyre" at HCTO (among other roles), and it's hard. And awesome. And hard. Only because it's hard to go to that crazy place. It's kinda scary. (For those unfamiliar with the story of Jane Eyre, Bertha is mentally insane.)

When I'm in my deepest phases of anxiety, one of my biggest fears is that I'll go crazy. In my early twenties, during the very worst times of panic attacks, I sometimes wished I would go crazy, just to escape my fear of it. I figured that if I was completely out of touch with reality, nothing could scare me. Years ago, during one of my worst anxiety episodes, I read a short story called "The Yellow Wallpaper" for a class, and it messed me up for YEARS. Now that I'm in a better place emotionally, I can appreciate the story for its literary merits, although it still sends shivers up my spine. I re-read it in preparation for playing Bertha. (I also sent a copy to my double, who was equal parts disturbed and appreciative.)

The awesome news is that the wig I'll be wearing is EXACTLY, PERFECTLY what I had envisioned. It's long and black and sort of tangly and big. It's perfect. After getting the wig, I've started wearing a long scarf in rehearsal as a sort of "stand in wig"...something to play with in character. Man, I'm excited to show you guys. Seeing myself in that wig made me feel way more connected to Bertha than I had been, but I was still a little scared.

Then, this week, we blocked a scene with Bertha in it. And it's the last scene we've blocked with Bertha in it. And I feel like I FOUND Bertha in that scene. I felt better about my work in that scene than I did in any of the others, even though in that scene I was the CRAZIEST. Violent and out of touch and sad.

And I think it's because I just allowed myself to just go there. To just go for it, without worrying about what other people will think, or even what I thought. It was sort of the equivalent of jumping into the water when you know it's freezing. You just gotta do it. You just gotta rip off the band-aid. I didn't give myself time to think or be scared. And it was a BLAST. I loved rehearsing that scene. I can't wait to do it again.

Now, of course, I'm trying to figure out how to bring THAT Bertha into the other scenes. There's one in particular that I'm struggling with--partly because I'm having trouble with the direction I've been given...I'm just not able to motivate it very well. I think I can make it work; I just have to sit down with the underscoring and figure it out.

It was a cool little acting lesson for me. Here's what I learned: I was scared to go to that crazy place because it's a place that I'm afraid actually resides in me. And I felt sure that if I reveal it, everyone would quietly turn around and abandon me, because who could ever love someone with something so scary and dark and mad within them? But for all my preaching about the empowering nature of vulnerability, I wasn't very good at it. I saw during that one rehearsal how safe the world of theatre actually can be. I faced that demon and it shrunk. I'm still kinda scared...I think I always will be. Both of being judged (either for the dark craziness or for the crappy acting), and of not being able to get out of that crazy space.

But I proved to myself this week that A) no one is judging me nearly as harshly as I think they are, and B) I can go to that crazy space and totally come back out again. Not only that, but it's THRILLING to do so. And bizarrely, a lot of fun. There's something liberating in just pacing like an animal and trying to scratch faces and being dragged away to a chair with shackles. Man, I love acting.

So go for it, you guys. My fellow actors, just commit. It might be way more fun than you realized.

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Playing With Fire (And Winning)

Three books, two bags, one me

Jacob and I just got back from a whirlwind trip to New York City, and I'm going to write about it.

So, both Jacob and my brother-in-law Dave made it to final callbacks at The New School. And I was free, so I decided to tag along and splurge on a few shows while I was there. We took the red-eye on Friday night, arriving Saturday morning, and then left again on Monday. So it was a SUPER SHORT trip, but we managed to pack some good times in there.

WHAT DIDN'T HAPPEN DURING OUR TRIP TO NEW YORK: 

1. Winning the lottery for Hamilton, even though we entered like, 3 times.
2. Running into Daniel Radcliffe and becoming friends with him, in a platonic "meet-cute" sort of situation. (Before we left Utah, I told Jacob that I had a daydream about this, and he replied, "You've had that daydream every time we've gone to New York." Which is true.)
3. Me opening Snapchat and singing "History is happenin' in Manhattan and we just happen to be in the greatest city in the world!" while wandering Manhattan. Even though I was tempted. Like, every 15 seconds that I was in Manhattan.

WHAT DID HAPPEN DURING OUR TRIP TO NEW YORK: 

Here it is in verbal form.

1. Jacob and I stayed with our friends, Sean and Danielle, whom we know from Rexburg. They recently moved to New York and we spent hours picking Danielle's brain about the acting work she's been doing.
2. Danielle and I got catcalled by a guy in a bagel costume. The catcalling thing would usually annoy me, but the addition of the bagel costume made the entire thing so ridiculous that I had to just laugh at it.
3. We were also able to run around with friends Omar (who was there doing acting career research) and Jeff (who lives there). Good times were had in the Drama Bookshop and Shake Shack.
4. Jacob and Dave did callbacks, which culminated in a  24-hour play festival, which I got to watch.
5. Saw an SLC friend Ben's one-man show, "The BYU/Berkley Plot."
6. Saw two Broadway shows, which I'll devote separate paragraphs to.
7. Wandered the Met by myself for a few hours.
8. Had this bizarre encounter while waiting in line for a play...

People behind me in line: "I think that show's closed. It's in Salt Lake now. Is it? I can't remember."
Me: "It is. I'm from Salt Lake."
People behind me in line: "No kidding! We are too!"
Me: "No way!"
People behind me in line: "So where in Salt Lake do you live?"
Me: "In South Salt Lake, near --- South and --- East. How about you?"
People behind me in line: "Whoa. We live at [names an address roughly two blocks away from our apartment]."

Of the 9 million people in New York City, we bumped into each other. The universe is bizarre, man.



And if you don't follow me on snapchat (@lizannechapman), here's the trip in snapchat story form.



And here's a brief, geeky drama kid earful about the two Broadway shows I got to see.

THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHT-TIME

I just re-read this book for my YA Lit class, so I was especially excited to see it adapted for the stage. And boy, was it adapted for the stage. The National Theatre just knows how to utilize THEATRE to tell a story. There are things you can do in theatre that you can't do in any other medium. And you guys. The sound design. The set design. The costumes. The concepts. THEATRE IS SO FRICKIN' MAGICAL. The show won Tony's this past year for Best Play, Best Direction, and Best Lighting Design, Best Scenic Design. It was nominated for Choreography, even though it wasn't a musical. Alex Sharp won Best Actor for his portrayal of Christopher. I saw his replacement, Tyler Lea, who was perfect and sympathetic and charming and wonderful and honest. I was so impressed by his work. 

Here are two clips, showing some highlights of the show. There aren't any good (legal) clips of specific scenes, just because the nature of the adaptation doesn't really separate the plot into tidy "scenes." Things transition pretty quickly. But these still give a good glimpse of the show.

SOMETHING ROTTEN

I was debating between seeing Fun Home and Something Rotten for my last show. But I finally decided that Curious Incident was a thought-provoking, moving piece of theatre, and that I should end my trip with a "big and shiny, mighty fine-y, glitter-glitz-and-chorus-line-y, bob-your-head-and-shake-your-hiney musical." So "Something Rotten" it was. And it was perfect.

First of all, Christian Borle. You know, the guy who won a Tony for playing Shakespeare in "Something Rotten"? Who won another Tony for the role of Black Stache in "Peter and the Starcatcher"? Who played various roles in the original cast of "Spamalot," including the Historian and Prince Herbert?

Yeah, him.

I got to see him. And he was totally deserving of that Tony Award.

The show was funny and dazzling and charming. There weren't any deep, dramatic messages, but there was joy and talent, and it gave me a song to sing for when I'm blue.

Here are a handful of clips from "Something Rotten." There are a few more of these, just because the show lends itself better to performances of certain numbers.

"It's Hard to Be the Bard" at the White House


"A Musical" at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade


Mashup of "God I Hate Shakespeare" and "Will Power" from The Today Show



Jacob and I have no idea if New York is in our near future. He went to grad school auditions at several different schools around the country, and who knows what the results will be. And it could be that we decide to just stick around Salt Lake for a while after all.

But I left New York filled with the reminder that no matter where my life and career take me, I'll always always always adore theatre. My heart is just there, and I can't imagine that I'll ever be truly at home anywhere else. I belong to the theatre, undeniably and unavoidably. It was good for my soul to remember that.

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Three books, two bags, one me

Things to Look Forward To

Hey, guess what? It's almost spring! I can feel it. I know we've still got a few weeks of cold left, but March is barreling towards us, and I await her with open arms. But aside from spring, there are a handful of things that are making life exciting right now. It's especially nice to have all of these sunny things to look forward to after the post-show doldrums of Beau Jest ending. Here's what's on the docket for the next few months:

In a few hours, I'm getting on a plane to meet my sister and her girlfriend, and my mom and stepdad in southern California. We'll spend two days running around Disneyland, and I can't wait. My sister and I have been texting each other countdowns to this day for the last month and a half.

Then, the following weekend, Jacob and I and a few friends will be heading up to Rexburg to see our incredibly talented friends and family perform in BYU-Idaho's production of Antigone. It's been an awesome experience for those involved, and I'm excited to see the final product. Oh, and that weekend, we also get to watch the Oscars. And you know how much I love the Oscars.

And THEN, the weekend after THAT, Jacob and I are going to New York City for a whirlwind weekend. Jacob made it to final callbacks for The New School (did I mention he's auditioning for grad schools?), and even though we're not sure how we could afford moving to New York, it seems foolish to throw away this chance, so he's going. And since I was free, I decided to go with him. I'm planning on spending every day trying to see shows (lottery for Hamilton--I wanna be in the room where it happens), and possibly wandering the Met, while Jacob auditions.

Sometime in the spring, I'll be going to Germany to visit Dad and Mary. I had a big Europe tour planned, but I don't think the timing is right. I may try to make a weekend trip to Paris, but my epic two-week excursion will have to wait.

And when I return from Germany, it will be time (appropriately enough) to begin rehearsals for Cabaret. I just got cast in Utah Repertory Theatre's upcoming production. I'll be playing Frenchie, one of the Kit Kat Club performers. I haven't played such a dance heavy role in about ten years, and I'm still sore from call-backs on Sunday. But I've got until June to get my rear in gear, and I'm THRILLED to be doing this show. I'll be reuniting with some old friends, and I'm excited to work with some new ones. The show runs from mid-August to early September, if ya wanna come! (Although, fair warning, this is not a Hale-Theatre-Family-Style-Entertainment show. But more details on why I decided to do this show anyway forthcoming.)

What are you looking forward to nowadays?

photo via

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Things to Look Forward To

I'm never gonna dance again the way I danced with you

It’s Tuesday, and Beau Jest has been closed for three days. I gave myself Sunday and Monday to mourn, and today is the day I’ve given myself to officially say goodbye to the show. I’ll be ready to move on after today.

Monday was difficult. I knew exactly where my phone and keys were at all times, and it was the worst. When I said or did something funny, the room was mostly silent, and I felt the absence of 600 people’s joy. There was a thrill that was missing from every moment. I stayed in bed until noon.

I think the thing that will stand out in my memories of this show is the playfulness that infused us. We exchanged stories at the cast party. “We didn’t really have many things go wrong,” the THS cast said. I looked at Bryan. “I think we had something happen every single night,” I replied. Bryan breaking the remote, over and over again, and the final night that he caught it mid-air, and stood looking in astonishment at it in his hand. (“I’m sorry…I’m just really impressed that I caught that.” The audience applauded his sportsmanship while I smiled at him, open-mouthed in amazement.) The night Ben and Bryan missed their high five, TWICE, and I sat at the desk and laughed, trying to hide my face. The beautiful, beautiful night when the door-frame broke, and Ben embracing the comedy of it so perfectly, and Betsy and I standing hand in hand, trying to get it together enough to say our lines. I brushed up against that column of light every single night.

After months of rehearsing and performing, the set became comfortable in the way your own apartment does. I will miss the blue couch, it’s velvet brightness and the way I felt comfortable and safe in it. I’d lay on it in Act Two, facing the ceiling and hearing Joel psychoanalyzing, and sit up blinded from the stage lights to look at Bob and say out loud that I wanted to be with him. The yellow ottoman, with its one faint black stain on the side, became “my spot” during rehearsal. At the end of each performance, I could barely stay balanced as I turned and bowed while standing on it. My feet have memorized the distance between the phone and the desk, the couch and the bedroom door, the sideboard and the table.

“Take My Breath Away” and “Don’t You Forget About Me” will forever be Beau Jest songs. And “Careless Whisper.” Always “Careless Whisper.” On closing weekend, Jacob was in New York, and he told me later that he walked out of his hotel to a man playing the saxophone on the street, wailing “Careless Whisper” with all of the enthusiasm of Chris in his turtleneck. He gave him $5, because “he f***ing earned it, man.” I like to think that at the exact same moment, the song was playing in the Hale Centre Theatre in West Valley, Utah…a cosmic connection. At the end of intermission, Bryan and I would stand backstage, ready to walk out in the black out, dancing to the Post-Modern Jukebox cover. Some nights Bryan would make up wildly inappropriate lyrics of his own. I would laugh while trying to get the left-over challah out of my teeth, knowing we were about to kiss a half a dozen times and not wanting to have bread in my teeth for it.

I was so nervous about the stage kisses before rehearsals started. But I’ve been baptized by all kinds of fire, and feel more capable as an actress having added the experience to my resume. I spent most of my life believing I wasn’t pretty enough to ever be a “leading lady.” I've come to see my own beauty over the years, but I've never thought of it as "leading lady beauty," and I spent the first few weeks of Beau Jest rehearsals believing that I was cast because I was funny, and that they just chose to live without the pretty. It was astonishing to realize, slowly and gradually, that others saw the pretty, too. I have never felt more beautiful during a show than I did during Beau Jest.

The dressing rooms were emptier during this show than “Oklahoma,” but it didn’t feel that way. Betsy and I would exchange stories while music rang out from my phone, and Ben and Bryan would come stand in the doorway, chatting while we got into makeup. Jerry would join long enough to make a “dad joke,” and Todd would poke his head in to say hello.

I think of everyone’s eyes, the way I learned to read them over the weeks. Their kindness as they asked about my dad, the warmth of their arms around me, the smooth tenderness of their hands as we stood in a close circle every night before the show. I remember the night of the Paris attacks, believing that laughter is the best way to fight terror. I remember nights when my ears and toes were icy with cold, while some of us stood in the parking lot under the stars, talking while the freezing air gathered in clouds around us. I started calling these times “Parking Lot Talks,” and I will miss them as much as I will miss standing in Sarah Goldman’s living room, trying to let her be brave enough to tell the truth.

On that last Saturday, I lingered at the theatre for hours, not wanting to go home, not wanting it to end. We all kept saying, “Let’s do another show together soon,” and I nodded. “Yes please!” I kept replying. I felt the question mark of the next few months loom over me for the first few days after leaving the theatre. But it’s faded into an exclamation point, my heart bursting with gratitude. That last night, as I teetered on the ottoman and bowing my head to 600 people, I thought suddenly, “I can’t believe I got to do this. Someone saw that I could do this.” And it was both a sensation of melting into disbelief, and flying straight upwards in celebration. It was the perfect gift, that moment. This show.

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I'm never gonna dance again the way I danced with you

The Misadventures of Sarah Goldman (Beau Jest Rehearsal Diaries, Part 3)

Saturday, December 20, 2015

A full run-through today! I feel more ready today than I have during this whole run. There are still little things to work out and figure out, and we’re adding actual food into the Seder on Monday. But with producer previews coming up on Tuesday, I’m feeling pretty good.

Both Bryan and Todd have inadvertently discovered how very ticklish the back of my knees are, and it’s a problem. ESPECIALLY with Todd. In the opening scene, I have my legs draped over his lap and I was SO JUMPY today the whole time my legs were there, because he kept starting to put his hands on the back of my knees. I know they’d both just leave me alone if I didn’t react so hugely, but it’s not entirely in my control.

One difficult thing about rehearsal today—they took away our couch! One of the legs is broken. We were in the middle of the Shabbat meal scene when some people came in and removed the couch and replaced it with chairs. We made a few jokes about how Sarah forgot to lock her door. We were actually each a little worried about how it had happened. Ben A made a joke about how the kissing scene got a little too intense, but I looked at Bryan and said I hoped it wasn’t from the other night when we spent a few minutes falling onto the back of the couch because it was fun. (“I like falling, but I don’t like landing,” Bryan explained.) But apparently it’s been broken for a while. I hope we get it back soon—it is DIFFICULT to rehearse with those chairs instead. They’re smaller, and it’s hard to do certain blocking things.

Monday, we introduce food to the Seder meal! We’re also playing the “dice game,” which involves switching casts after running for as many minutes as the dice dictates, and eventually impressions and emotions as well. I’m super excited about it.

Oh! And I spoke with the Deseret News today about the show and my experience in it. I was a little unsure at first, but I feel like I was able to express some important and true things. I’m excited to read the article when it comes out.

Monday, December 21, 2015

The dice game was SO MUCH FUN! I was so impressed with EVERYONE in the cast. Everyone rocked it. Eric pointed out the vulnerability of an exercise like this, when we’re called upon to do stupid impressions and crazy emotions and to transition quickly. It’s kind of beautiful to see everyone support each other and to laugh together. I loved it. And I did make some fun discoveries. Eric just gave us the greatest pep talk in the world after rehearsal, instead of notes. It was such a great night. Eric and Tammy both laughed until they cried. We all did.

In an effort to dissuade Todd from tickling the back of my knees tonight, I bit his hand. Twice. When that didn’t stop him, I licked his hand. He watched me do it, then said, “Whoa. That was…awesome.” *sigh* It did not dissuade him AT ALL. Dang it.

In other news, I sometimes worry that my physical affection for those around me will be misinterpreted as inappropriate. Like, maybe people think that I, as a married woman, shouldn’t be cuddling with other people? But it’s not that I’m making any of it sexual or even romantic. It’s just that physical touch is my love language. And I’m not physically affectionate with EVERYONE just because not everyone is comfortable with it. It’s not everyone ELSE’S love language. But for those people who do speak the love language of physical touch, it’s how we communicate—cuddles and hand holding and massages. And plus, theatre people. Theatre people in general seem to have fewer physical boundaries. So we’re all kind of more touchy-feely anyway. It’s just that all touch has such romantic or sexual weight in our current society that I worry a little. But not enough to change anything.

On a completely different note, we’ve got producer previews tomorrow—woo hoo! Also…I’m definitely NOT coming down with a cold (uuuggghhhhh).

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

First producer preview down! We made Mark laugh out loud, multiple times. So that was awesome. It was a fairly solid run, although nerves sort of got the better of us. We were a little scared, and a little unused to having an audience there, so we were a little frenetic. Lines weren’t quite what they usually are, and there were a few spots that didn’t go as smoothly as they usually do. But it was still solid. The biggest note we got is to trust the script and ground our work in reality. I think with our nerves, we got a little lost in the shtick, and moved away from the natural-ness of it all.

Eric and Sally kept talking about making sure our choices are grounded in being natural and honest. And in the back of my mind, I thought, “But…my honesty IS kind of weird. Like, me being natural and genuine might not seem as grounded in reality, just because the way I act isn’t quite how other people act. I’m kind of weird.” I trust Eric to pull me back if needed.

I feel okay about my work tonight. It was a little disconnected in places, but generally okay. In Ben Hopkin’s class, he talks about how technique, or “communication” makes up for where we fall short in connection. I feel like I’m a solid enough actress technique-wise that I can carry off a show pretty well, even if my connection is suffering a little. I know I can do BETTER, though. I feel confident we can get it to where it needs to be. We just had to get this very slightly clunky bit out of the way.

Speaking of bits, we’re probably going to cut a couple of them. Mark and Sally said they like working with Eric because he gives them lots to work with, and then they come in and do sort of a “final edit.” So after the other cast’s producer preview, we’ll see what changes need to be made. (One change that’s being made: kissing Chris in the opening scene after all! I looked over at Todd after notes and said, “Hey, we’re gonna kiss!” Bryan frowned at Todd and then said, “I get Todd’s secondsies?” I just rolled my eyes. I actually agree with Sally that it’s a more effective moment—to have Sarah KISSING someone on the couch, then saying, “Oh that’ll be my date,” when the doorbell rings.)

Sally told an awesome story that I wanted to record. So, in the script, Bob says that he works at the Candlelight Playhouse every so often. At the end of the show, he says he’ll be doing “Fiddler on the Roof” there. The Candlelight Playhouse is a real theatre in Chicago, and years and years ago, Mark and Sally went to see a show there. It was the first time they had ever seen a theatre in the round that had a moving stage. It wasn’t terribly high-tech—it could only rotate as far as the extension cords would reach. But at this point, Mark and Sally were designing the new theatre, the theatre we’re currently in. So Mark came home from the Candlelight Playhouse and said, “I think we should have a rotating stage.” And the Hale West Valley rotating stage was born.

As we left the theatre tonight, Bryan and I both started moon-walking to our cars (don't remember why). His car was about 10 yards away. Mine was about 100. After about four seconds of moon-walking, I said, “If we were really committed actors, we’d both do this all the way to our cars.” Bryan said, “I AM a really committed actor.” I laughed and then said, “Dang it! What have I done?!” But I freaking did it—I moon-walked all the way to my car. I moon-walked over a curb, over grass, down the other curb. I almost tripped once, but I made it. My shoes were filled with slushy water afterwards, but it was totally worth it.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

Other cast’s producer preview! I took a ton of notes, as always. (Ha. Always. I’ve only been double cast twice.) I think the sweet spot is somewhere in between their cast and ours, as far as realism and energy goes. The biggest note THEY got was to amp up the energy and volume.

Todd and Becca were including the added stage kiss in their run, they decided to figure it out before rehearsal officially started. Eric and I sat and watched, creepily, so that I knew how it would go. Becca and Todd ran their scene, then Becca and I switched out and I ran it. (Afterwards, Todd said, “Okay, who’s next?” Bryan put his phone down—the one he’d been pretending to video-tape us with—and took my place in Todd’s arms. I took Bryan’s phone out of his hands and captured the tender moment.) 

Thursday, December 24, 2015

Today, I thought about the fact that Beau Jest won’t last forever, and it broke my heart a little. I have no choice but to live in the moment and just enjoy every second of doing this show, because if I don’t, I’ll start to crumble. Maybe that’s unhealthy? I just feel so lucky lucky lucky blessed blessed blessed. That I get to play this part. That I get to tell this story. That I get to do it with these people.

I think having a day or two off from rehearsal will be helpful for us—give us a chance to sort of “refresh” and come back to the script with new eyes.

I can’t believe I get to do this.

Saturday, December 26, 2015

I’m having a hard time understanding what day it is. We didn’t have rehearsal Thursday or yesterday, but we had rehearsal today. But we don’t have rehearsal tomorrow. We have rehearsal the next day. My brain is struggling.                        

Today’s rehearsal included so many things. We started out with cast photos. (Man, I love my wig.) Also, Ric looks like Mr. Feeney from Boy Meets World in his costume and glasses. (Realization: That actor who plays Mr. Feeney has a New England accent. We were all trying to impersonate him, and I realized that it’s not “slightly British,” as we first thought, it’s New England. *The More You Know*)

I had one terrifying moment during photos, when Bryan reminded me to take off my FitBit, and I noticed that I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring. I mean, I wasn’t SUPPOSED to be, and I had loosened it earlier to remind me to take it off. But I couldn’t remember actually taking it off, or where I had put it. I felt tearful and vaguely panicked for a moment, but told myself to just do the photos, then look, and then I could panic and cry if I couldn’t find it. I got back to the costume shop and searched my makeup kit and my purse, and didn’t find it. Then I stepped into the dressing room and there, shining on the floor, was my wedding ring. I picked it up and ran back into the shop and did a victory lap, exclaiming (and explaining) joyfully. I’m so glad I never had to panic and cry about it. I think I might just not wear it to the theatre anymore. Just to be safe.

After photos, and changing back into regular clothes (a t-shirt and my husband’s wolf pajama pants, in my case), we did a white elephant gift exchange, where I stole two Alien action figures, which were promptly stolen back from me. In the end, Bryan and I struck a deal—I stole a pocketknife back for him, and he gave me the funny t-shirt he had gotten for it. So now I have Todd’s old t-shirt, which just says, “George is still running.” There’s actually a valid explanation for the caption, but I like how cryptic it is without the explanation.  

Then we had the famous SPEED-THROUGH! Dueling cast-style. It was a race to see who could get the best time. We took a break at intermission for sandwiches, and it took me all of that break to recover my normal breath. In the end, Tammy refused to tell us which cast won, and gave us ALL a prize (2 comp tickets to the show for ANY NIGHT during the run). The two casts started at different times, because of Todd being single cast, so at the end of Act One, we had finished before the other cast. So we waited until they were done and then pretended like we were still finishing when they came in. (I don’t think we ever actually told them about our deception.)

The speed-through was really helpful. Eric said that sometimes actors complain about speed-throughs, because you never actually do a show that way. But we all talked about how helpful it really is! It lets you know where you don’t know your lines and cues. It heightens your focus. It helps you find places where speed is actually better. It increases camaraderie among cast members (despite the competition between casts). It helps you be aware of intonation patterns. Ric shared a final thought, and he got a little bit emotional as he said it. He said that the speed-through truly taught him what talent we have in this production. He said he was so impressed with all of us, and feels so so lucky to be doing this with all of us. I couldn’t have put it better myself.

For some reason, I had it in my head that we were going to do an additional full run after the speed-throughs, but it turns out we didn’t—we were done by 2 o’clock. I found myself lingering, chatting with Andy and Bryan and Tammy, not wanting to leave. I feel more at home at the theatre than anywhere else (besides home). Eventually, I did get into my car and drove off, but not without wishing I had an excuse to stay, chatting or working. I’ve missed everyone the last two days, and I’ll miss them again tomorrow. I suppose I’ll get a good healthy dose of everyone this coming week—tech week is officially begun!

The other day, Jacob asked me if I feel ready for opening (on Thursday!!!). I thought for a moment and replied that I feel ready acting-wise. The things I don’t feel ready for are all tech things—quick changes and working with the wig and being in the space. But I know those are all things we’ll work on next week. So I feel confident I’ll be ready by the time we actually open. There are still moments that I know could be stronger, but I also know that they’re great where they are, and that they’ll improve with more rehearsal time. And it will take us a few shows with an audience for the show to sort of “settle.” Not as in “settling for what it is,” but for it to get comfortable in its groove. I’m excited for that to happen.

Here goes nothin’!

Monday, December 28, 2015

First night of tech! It actually didn’t even really feel like rehearsal. We did mic EQ’s, and then rehearsed the quick-changes. We were only there from 6 pm to 8:30 pm. It was super helpful to do quick-changes, though. Barbara (the costume designer) is going to make a few additional adjustments to make them even easier. The set’s in the middle of change-over, but there’s enough there for us to get a sense of distance and timing. 

I’m excited for the set to be all loaded in, and to start REALLY rehearsing. Each cast has got two full runs in the space before opening, and I kind of wish we had more. Okay, not kind of, I DEFINITELY wish we had more! But I’m confident enough in our abilities to make it work. Doing shows at the Playmill taught me how to “fake it ‘til you make it” when it comes to having a show ready. And Jacob is the only one I have coming to opening night, and he’ll be seeing it again a few weeks later. All my other people are coming a few shows into the run…we’ll have had some time to solidify everything even better.

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Day after tomorrow. That’s when we open. We have one more run. GAH!

Tonight was pretty good—not as bad as I thought it was going to be, but not as good as it will be tomorrow. We were just kind of “in our heads” tonight. We added so many elements—new props, costumes, lights, sound, the set itself. Pretty darn smooth for all that new stuff. Some line flubs and repeats. Our favorite of the night was Bryan saying, “Did your doctor subscribe askpirin for you?” There were also a few silly technical things during quick changes, but I think we’ll get them figured out. I think tomorrow I might sit down and write out the details of how we’re doing things. Not just what needs to be done, like “put on dress,” but the specifics of how the dress is put on (who does the buckle, etc). I think that will help.

But there were also all these strange little things that compounded to throw us off—at one point, Bryan and I hold hands, but our fingers were like, off by one digit on the interlocking business, so things were just weird. Things like that. The wine was sweeter than we expected. There were smaller spoons with the Seder meal. The vodka glasses were fuller than usual. The bedroom and kitchen had doors. All these little things. But still. We got through it!

Mark said tonight that at this point, all we really need is an audience. And we’ll have a few tomorrow night! We’re having a sort of “invited dress.” That will actually be REALLY HELPFUL. New Year’s feels like so much pressure to get it right, and it will be nice to have a sort of “beta audience” first.

I don’t feel as ready as I want to feel, but I suppose there’s not much I can do about it.

Final thing to record: Eric is so kind as a director. His encouragement has been so helpful, and it makes it easier to believe in the greatness of our work.

One day closer to opening night. GAH.  

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

This is it! Final dress rehearsal was tonight! And I feel so much better about the show. Last night, I wasn’t quite sure if we’d really be ready. But after tonight, I feel pretty good. It was a pretty smooth run—we were all focused and listening and present. Any little flubs (because we still had a few) were covered easily and quickly. It was also helpful to have a little bit of an audience there. Starting to get some of that laughter and energy from them really brought things to life.

Mark compliments my wig every time I see him, as well I should. He also told me to try my mic pack on my thigh to avoid the “bustle” look of it being around my waist, and I'm a little nervous about that--I've never had it work very well. 

And I’m glad our run was good—I was so GRUMPY beforehand! A prayer before our run helped. And I feel pretty good! 

So this is it. Opening night. I’m ready.

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The Misadventures of Sarah Goldman (Beau Jest Rehearsal Diaries, Part 3)