Post Mortem

"The Little Nebbish" at The Berubian is over. Exhale. The last performance felt kind of rushed: no wonder - almost every actor involved dropped lines tonight. We all covered up for one another nicely, though.  My cousin, who attended thrice said, "Not one performance was the same." Not that there is anything wrong with this for an unpublished, untried work that has not even been workshopped. Samuel French was not in the room. The ticket taker said he enjoyed watching us actors evolve...along with all the little nuances we gave our characters.

Redundancies and elongated statements in the play will be deleted in the next edit, said playwright Eliza, who no doubt now sees the pros and cons of her piece through the lens of craft, the value of sweat equity, and the generous donation of time and good humor by seven hardworking actors and tiny crew who brought light, energy, and delicious zest to her vision. Breathe deeply. Cut. Paraphrase.

A charming moment: Elba (Kendra) brought her little fuzzy white dog, part chihuaha, Ruby, to "The Little Nebbish" tonight since she had no time to rush home after work before the production. Ruby was so well behaved it was admirable. She mostly stayed, wide-eyed, in her little pink and beige zippered carrying case during the entire show, snapping only at our co-director, Sean.

No celebration post play. More like relief writ large. In the dark, dank rain of this week's California everyone seemed glad to be heading home, to have made it safely down to Long Beach Boulevard in the first place. Maybe a couple in our gang had a drink together afterwards? If only all this had happened on my home turf in the Bay Area, cast and crew would have surely gathered at my home afterwards and partied til dawn. Grateful tonight that for me, it was only a few minutes away to Cousin Annie and Pat's in Belmont Heights for his delicious tilapia and eggnog with rum.  

So, what did I learn? To follow my friend's advice and ask more key questions about the production before signing on to any new play (How's the audio? The lighting? Who is doing wardrobe? Who is the director? Will there be toilet paper, daaaahling?). That I can, in fact, memorize lines for a large role, but that I need ample rehearsal time (as most actors do) and a leading male equally committed to excellence. Never again will I be part of an only-Monday night production with a mere four rehearsals planned and an extra one thrown in at the last minute, with no producer visible, no budget, no pay (one-ninth of nothing is still a miserly nothing), no wardrobe person or backstage aide, and inexperienced co-directors flying by the seat of their pants.

When this whole episode began seven weeks ago, I half jokingly promised my cousins that if my acting career ever took off, I'd buy them a swimming pool for the back yard. Will the thespian dream ever deliver that sweet smell of success?