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.