Directing a musical theater production at a kids’ program nearby, I found myself in the midst of chaos. It was my first time working with this particular program—learning how things are done and how I might help. In decades of directing, I’d never witnessed a situation quite like this one.
The cast of fifteen middle schoolers floundered in a fall session that lacked clear structure. I was repeatedly told this was not the norm, that issues with staff and students had created a tornado effect. But I wasn’t entirely convinced. I struggled to maintain composure at rehearsals, to validate how things had been done in the past while bringing new, simple practices to the table that might calm and focus the actors. Things like beginning rehearsal sitting in a circle in order to be present to one another, to name what’s working well, and to let kids ask questions or share concerns. Or playing brief warm-up games that, at first, the students could not accomplish.
The week of performance, we moved from a rehearsal space into the theater space. This is the point at which the producer and I had a conversation about how to move forward. I introduced the circle idea and the principle of taking care of one another. He was all for it. Yet, there had been so little focused rehearsal time that we still couldn’t manage to get through the whole show. Without the preparation required, lines/cues/entrances/exits/choreography/lyrics sometimes went out the window. And there’d been no real opportunity to explore character or give notes.
I’ve heard it said that a miracle is a changed consciousness. If that’s true, what happened next was indeed a miracle because a gift moment came through to change mine. In a grueling dress rehearsal, I looked up at the end of a musical number to see all the actors in place in their line downstage. In a flash of recognition through their faces, time stood still—and I heard myself say inwardly, I love these kids. When did that happen?
Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, a bond of respect was built while I was busy trying to save a sinking ship. Later that afternoon, two of the older kids approached me to ask if they could please all stay later at the next day’s rehearsal. They wanted to run the show more. There’s nothing more rewarding than having kids trust enough to ask, returning the respect I’d extended. We did stay late the next day, and we made good progress.
At the posting of this story, I’m about to attend the closing performance. We’ve had significant technical challenges, even a snowstorm. Audiences have been extremely patient and forgiving.
While bringing the highest architecture of achievement to a creative endeavor is a worthy goal, perhaps it’s good to experience a bit of a train wreck to remember what’s truly taking place behind the scenes.