It’s
never easy to do something for the first time.
Especially in a place you don’t speak the language and with actors who’ve
possibly never even seen what you’re attempting
to accomplish. So Liz and I knew directing
a musical at Beijing National Day School was going to be a doozie of a project,
but it was more than we could have ever anticipated for a lot of dumb little
reasons. However, there were four “tragedies”
that stuck out because they all ended up totally
being for the best, reminding us that all of this was only by His
strength. So here we go.
1. Two
weeks before auditions…we lost our show.
I
wrote this about this in my last blog, which feels like (and indeed was) ages
ago, but Father closing the door on Peter
Pan Jr. was a blessing I thanked Him for almost every day, for a number of
reasons. Of course, Peter Pan would have required much more elaborate sets. Forget the flying! Costumes alone would have required everything
from pirates to mermaids to crocodiles to iconic characters…in tights. We were for prepared for this challenge,
armed with the experienced and equipped Juana, but the night of callbacks,
Juana informed me that she had just been diagnosed with cancer and could no
longer help. While Juana recovered, we
looked for a replacement, and my friends Abby and Meagan made me cry when they
volunteered, “We already decided that we will do whatever we can to make this
show happen.” And they were incredible,
forming a little sweat shop in their apartment, making skirts and aprons and
prayer shawls left and right…but we praised Him every day that they weren’t
making fins and crocodiles instead; I didn’t want to go that far in testing
their love for me. ;) What’s more, even
though Fiddler on the Roof was our
only option in doing a show (being the only script that I had in China,
allowing me to make the necessary preperations in time), it happened to be the
best show for our school. Not only was I
much more familiar with it, having played Hodel in high school, but I was
amazed to see how our students and the audience connected to the humor and
themes. Peter Pan will always be a
reminder in my life of Father’s gentle sovereignty.
2. Two months before the show….we lost our venue.
Before
we even agreed to do a show, we secured a beautiful venue right next door to
our school, which lacked a proper performing space. This theatre was huge, professionally
equipped, but impossible to get a hold of.
We tried scheduling a time to measure the stage, examine the light
board, but as time flew by, the theatre kept ignoring our persistent calls, and
I got more nervous. Sure enough, when I
was at the Great Wall with my mom, I got a call from Liz who said, “Are you
sitting down? We lost the theatre. They said they can no longer have us.” It was a blow, but we had learned to go to
Father with the tragedies, and within 24 hours we had settled on switching the
performance to the less-than-ideal school gym.
Though we were in constant competition with the badminton courts (no one interferes with badmitton in
China. It reigns as second in command,
next to the SAT/TOFEL/Gao Kao Test.), and Liz and I could write a book on the
dumb little issues with the gym, I am so grateful
to have made the switch. We were able to
build and paint the stage right on the stage, practice more in the actual
space, and pop in whenever we felt like it without scheduling with that dumb
theatre. Another blessing disguised as a
tragedy.
3. One
month before the show….we lost our Rabbi.
I
lost track of how many students dropped out of the musical during the rehearsal
process…maybe eight. Despite the
contracts and fines and serious warnings and pep talks, we were powerless to force kids to stay. The first rehearsal we lost maybe four and
Lazar Wolf, and they kept dropping for one reason or another. I was also bombarded daily with texts and
requests to be late to rehearsal or miss altogether for every reason under the
sun. I tried to be firm and
understanding, but it weighed heavily on my moral and patience, easily becoming
the part I hated most of my job. It’s
exhausting to work yourself to the bone for people who don’t appreciate
it. Then. One month before the show, Patton, our Rabbi
and a pillar male chorus member, informed us with joy that his band was going
to compete in Battle of the Bands in
Shanghai…the day of our show. Turns out,
he mixed up the dates, and felt horrible, and we did everything we could to
convince him to honor his commitments, but in the end, he made his decision to
leave. I was angry, defeated, exhausted
and sad, and I remember Liz thinking for me in the stairwell minutes before
rehearsal, asking Father that He would help me deliver the most serious pep
talk I’ve ever given in love. I laid it
out for the kids: “When I decided to do a musical in China, I was told it would
be impossible. I was told students are
too busy with school. They only care
about grades. They won’t be willing to
sacrifice so much time for something that doesn’t improve their SAT scores. But I wanted to prove them wrong because I know you’re more than brains who are
good at math and science. I know you are talented and creative and
hardworking and I know this is going
to be a good show. But if another one of
you quits, this is our last musical at BNDS.”
The kids got it. They felt the
sting of Patton’s absence, they saw my sincerity, and there was a distinct
change in their attitudes. Oh they were
many more individual lectures after that, but as a whole, something big needed
to happen to get their attention and show them that they were no longer doing
something for their own jolly good pleasure; they were now a part of a team
that needed them desperately, that would suffer without them giving 100%.
4. One week before the show…we lost our
lighting designer. At dry tech. I was working with Captain Kevin Tiberius
Kirk, a student I loved for his quirkiness, though I never actually understood
his Star Trek references. Though a bit
hard to work with, he was the only one who knew the light board, spoke Chinese
AND English and was actually willing to put in the hours…until I realized he
wasn’t. I had given him my vision, the
looks I wanted, even created a start up cue sheet, but come dry tech he said, “My
successor has all the plans. He’s not
answering his phone, but he should be here in two hours.” When I told him that was not acceptable, I
eventually learned that neither he nor his “successor” (who spoke zero English)
could be at all the shows or the rehearsals to run lights. By the grace of God, I kept my cool. Basically, Jarrod went from operating the
spot to running the light board, which we learned from Kevin right there on the
spot before saying, “Thank you; goodbye.”
I went home and took a shower (the solution to 90% of your problems),
expecting to return to a late night, just me and Jarrod and the badminton
players slamming away while we programmed lights. But when I came back, the whole team was still
there, solving problems left and right, bringing in food and making it a whole-self-in
bonding experience. Might I add, that
the light booth was placed in a location where Jarrod could neither see the
stage nor HEAR anything (……..who. Who
designed this place.), so Jarrod ever so patiently took orders while I communicated
from the house via walkie talkie.
#moresketchthanalford. BUT! Here’s
the thing. Jarrod was sooooo much better
to work with than Kevin, AND, when Kevin finally gave us his successor’s plans,
we liked our design better! So we were
all grateful that this little tragedy happened at dry tech when there was still
time to make adjustments.
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