Rehearsal time, and the director paced the stage, sweating
bullets. The cast sat behind him, some on their mobiles and others trying to
memorize their lines. The script was one giant poem, a convenient mnemonic aid
from a poetic scriptwriter. The problem was the performance itself. Those
action cues could not cue themselves.
The
director turned to the cast. One inhale, one exhale.
“Remember
this is only a play,” He said. “Acting is all part of the show.”
“But sir,”
An actress said. “What’s a play?”
He usually
forgot about that bit. The cast arrived out of nowhere, like a poof and there
they were. Grown-up, but with very little knowledge of the arts. Everything
else was fair game.
So the
director once again explained the concept of plays, actors, actresses, and
scripts. The cast acknowledged every little detail, even the history of
Shakespeare.
“Alright,”
The director said. “Are you all ready now?”
One big,
“Yes”, from the cast and it began again.
The
execution of the early cues and lines went smoothly. The director relaxed his
shoulders and calves standing in a corner. It was further near the end when…
“Sir, what
does this all mean,” One of the actors said.
He showed
the director a page of the script. The verses combined the English of centuries
past with some twenty-first century jargon. He then got up and addressed the
cast yet again.
He lectured
on about the English language, bringing up the Shakespeare bits again alongside
other dialects, mostly colonial nineteenth-century. The cast nodded through all
this and continued the rehearsal.
It
was over by evening and the cast took off for dinner, drinks, and five-hour
naps. The director remained at the venue, contemplating on becoming a professor
instead.
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