This essay has also been recently published in a North Shore Music Theatre e-mail newsletter.
Dear NSMT Staff,
I remember one Saturday matinee in 1996 running into my good friend Ann with whom I was working at the time. We had seen many shows in Boston together, but had had no idea that we were both subscribers to the North Shore Music Theatre! Not only that, but our tickets were for the same day/same time! It was that day that we both agreed to continue subscribing, but together.
Looking forward to seeing the shows and attending them with Ann will always be some of my favorite memories of NSMT.
This past Wednesday, Ann passed away after a long, brutal battle with breast cancer.
I don't wish to depress anyone, but I do want to thank everyone at North Shore Music Theatre for providing Ann with many wonderful productions and for providing me with many enjoyable afternoons together with her. During this past fall, Ann did not have the strength to applaud or to participate in the standing ovations, but she still managed to attend every production, despite her illness.
I will continue to be a member of the NSMT community so I will keep remembering my good friend.
Ann thanks you.
Sincerely,
Scott C. Forrest
North Shore Music Theatre Subscriber since 1993
Copyright 2005 Scott C. Forrest
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Monday, January 24, 2005
Oscar Predictions
Predictions for Best Picture Nods -
The Aviator
Finding Neverland
Sideways
Ray
Million Dollar Baby
The Aviator
Finding Neverland
Sideways
Ray
Million Dollar Baby
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
I Know A Man
I know a man who will stand up with you
Yes, I know a man who knows what to do
Oh, my darling, I promise you true
That I know a man who will stand up for you.
I know a woman who will pray for you
This is a woman who will heal your wounds new
Oh, my child, the pain you go through
But, I know a woman who is praying for you
Rest, my dear, please rest
Blessed, my dear, you’re blessed
I know the moon will light up dark nights
Yes, I know the moon will guide your sore eyes
Oh, my friend, this life is not right
But, I know the moon will glow in the night.
Copyright 2004 Scott C. Forrest
Yes, I know a man who knows what to do
Oh, my darling, I promise you true
That I know a man who will stand up for you.
I know a woman who will pray for you
This is a woman who will heal your wounds new
Oh, my child, the pain you go through
But, I know a woman who is praying for you
Rest, my dear, please rest
Blessed, my dear, you’re blessed
I know the moon will light up dark nights
Yes, I know the moon will guide your sore eyes
Oh, my friend, this life is not right
But, I know the moon will glow in the night.
Copyright 2004 Scott C. Forrest
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Reflections on Opening Night
It is late Friday afternoon. It is on the edge of evening. I am driving on I-93 North as the falling snow mixes with ice. This is typical weather for both a Theatre II Opening Night and springtime in New England.
I am listening to Stevie Nicks’s “Stand Back” for the second time. After that, I will play her song “Beauty and the Beast” once. I do not call this a superstition. Rather, it is an inspirational process I’ve done for many auditions, swim meets, and opening nights. Stevie herself has admitted the energy source comes from somewhere unknown. I am grateful it has found me.
I am concerned the weather will keep away many audience members, especially since there has been a winter weather advisory in effect since this afternoon.
I think about what has brought me to this point. This particular rehearsal process has been unlike many Theatre II experiences. The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas was difficult to cast. We had an unprecidented second round of audtions due to a low turnout the first weekend. This was followed by emergency auditions when several cast members quit. The remaining cast, some now in multiple roles, grew anxious and confused.
Because of the numerous conflicts, tonight will be the first time the entire cast is together to run the show. No big deal. It’s only Opening Night.
When I arrive, I will find Jason’s opening night tradition ruined because the flower shop gave away his purchase to someone else. Male lead dancer Kai hurt his back the night before and will be unable to do the big Aggie number. Choreographer Bill will fill in at the last minute. Normal first-night nervousness will be replaced by legitimate concern. The atmosphere will be somber. But that's OK - it's Opening Night!
I will remember later that Mike asked me to add one more to his group who will be attending the performance Saturday night. I frantically find Phyllis. She will tell me I need to secure this with a credit card. I will nervously look at my watch. It will be 7:26 PM. This will give me four minutes to run back to the dressing room, find my credit card, race back to Phyllis, fill out the form, call Mike to tell him he is all set, and make a final return to the dressing room - all before the House opens. I will remember that Wendi called me earlier. My paranoia will convince me there is a problem. There will no time or way to call her back.
Eventually, the show will begin at exactly 8:00 PM Theatre Time. This means we will start at 8:15. As the band enters the stage, I will look around in the darkness to see everyone freeze. This will be it. No time to turn back. No time to ask for a line. No time to go over a dance step. There is only time to make our cues, have our costumes on, say the lines, act, react, make Director Cathy pleased, make Bill happy, make Music Director Dorothy satisfied, make members in the audience witnessing Theatre II for the first time impressed, and, oh, yes, have fun.
I will manage to find time for one bad pun. I am infamous for these. When a fellow cast member complains about his body mic, I will point to the wire and ask “Wire we doing this?” Despite the ill-timed joke, I find this is a question most of us ask ourselves often.
Two hours and thirty-five minutes later, the show is a success, largely due to the part of the very receptive audience. Either they missed or forgave us for the minor glitches that had occurred, or maybe they just did not care. Faces from Theatre II’s past greet us with hugs, smiles, sincere compliments, and wishes that they had been a part of this experience. The opening night hysteria is behind us, and we can begin having fun with both the show, and each other.
It happened. Despite it all, it happened. And Jason will find out that the wrong person went to the wrong flower shop to pick up the wrong flowers for the wrong group. Kai will feel better and well enough to perform the remaining performances. I will find out Wendi simply wanted to make arrangements to pay me for the tickets.
As Stage Manager Patti clears the stage and cast members ask for directions to the Ground Round for a celebretory feast, I find my heart is pounding again, and I recall the last five minutes of the performance.
This is when Debi, our Miss Mona, sings the tragically depressing song “Bus From Amarillo.” I say “depressing” because it is about taking a risk but being afraid to follow through with it. Debi, however, has found a way to perform the song with the hopeful optimism that it deserves. The last line of the song is the last line of the show - “Anything was possible for me.”
In addition to having fun, one of my goals when doing a show is to learn something. As I clear out of the theatre with my cast, it finally hits me.
In life, it is not only necessary to take risks, but it is mandatory to follow through with them. The process might not be smooth, but the final result is worth it. I promise you.
With all due respect to lyricist Carol Hall, I would like to slightly alter the final line -
“Anything IS possible for me.”
Copyright 2003 Scott C. Forrest
I am listening to Stevie Nicks’s “Stand Back” for the second time. After that, I will play her song “Beauty and the Beast” once. I do not call this a superstition. Rather, it is an inspirational process I’ve done for many auditions, swim meets, and opening nights. Stevie herself has admitted the energy source comes from somewhere unknown. I am grateful it has found me.
I am concerned the weather will keep away many audience members, especially since there has been a winter weather advisory in effect since this afternoon.
I think about what has brought me to this point. This particular rehearsal process has been unlike many Theatre II experiences. The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas was difficult to cast. We had an unprecidented second round of audtions due to a low turnout the first weekend. This was followed by emergency auditions when several cast members quit. The remaining cast, some now in multiple roles, grew anxious and confused.
Because of the numerous conflicts, tonight will be the first time the entire cast is together to run the show. No big deal. It’s only Opening Night.
When I arrive, I will find Jason’s opening night tradition ruined because the flower shop gave away his purchase to someone else. Male lead dancer Kai hurt his back the night before and will be unable to do the big Aggie number. Choreographer Bill will fill in at the last minute. Normal first-night nervousness will be replaced by legitimate concern. The atmosphere will be somber. But that's OK - it's Opening Night!
I will remember later that Mike asked me to add one more to his group who will be attending the performance Saturday night. I frantically find Phyllis. She will tell me I need to secure this with a credit card. I will nervously look at my watch. It will be 7:26 PM. This will give me four minutes to run back to the dressing room, find my credit card, race back to Phyllis, fill out the form, call Mike to tell him he is all set, and make a final return to the dressing room - all before the House opens. I will remember that Wendi called me earlier. My paranoia will convince me there is a problem. There will no time or way to call her back.
Eventually, the show will begin at exactly 8:00 PM Theatre Time. This means we will start at 8:15. As the band enters the stage, I will look around in the darkness to see everyone freeze. This will be it. No time to turn back. No time to ask for a line. No time to go over a dance step. There is only time to make our cues, have our costumes on, say the lines, act, react, make Director Cathy pleased, make Bill happy, make Music Director Dorothy satisfied, make members in the audience witnessing Theatre II for the first time impressed, and, oh, yes, have fun.
I will manage to find time for one bad pun. I am infamous for these. When a fellow cast member complains about his body mic, I will point to the wire and ask “Wire we doing this?” Despite the ill-timed joke, I find this is a question most of us ask ourselves often.
Two hours and thirty-five minutes later, the show is a success, largely due to the part of the very receptive audience. Either they missed or forgave us for the minor glitches that had occurred, or maybe they just did not care. Faces from Theatre II’s past greet us with hugs, smiles, sincere compliments, and wishes that they had been a part of this experience. The opening night hysteria is behind us, and we can begin having fun with both the show, and each other.
It happened. Despite it all, it happened. And Jason will find out that the wrong person went to the wrong flower shop to pick up the wrong flowers for the wrong group. Kai will feel better and well enough to perform the remaining performances. I will find out Wendi simply wanted to make arrangements to pay me for the tickets.
As Stage Manager Patti clears the stage and cast members ask for directions to the Ground Round for a celebretory feast, I find my heart is pounding again, and I recall the last five minutes of the performance.
This is when Debi, our Miss Mona, sings the tragically depressing song “Bus From Amarillo.” I say “depressing” because it is about taking a risk but being afraid to follow through with it. Debi, however, has found a way to perform the song with the hopeful optimism that it deserves. The last line of the song is the last line of the show - “Anything was possible for me.”
In addition to having fun, one of my goals when doing a show is to learn something. As I clear out of the theatre with my cast, it finally hits me.
In life, it is not only necessary to take risks, but it is mandatory to follow through with them. The process might not be smooth, but the final result is worth it. I promise you.
With all due respect to lyricist Carol Hall, I would like to slightly alter the final line -
“Anything IS possible for me.”
Copyright 2003 Scott C. Forrest
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