So it's 2am, the show is open and I can't sleep. just as Henry Jekyll is plagued by the compartmentalization of his mind, I too find that tonight there are a divergence of fellows or elements or random thoughts personified that I am host to.
My body did that thing it does after opening week. It releases and that hits you like a drug. Muscles that have been contracted all week, let go, and suddenly you are drinking a cup of coffee watching the ball game and you close your eyes and feel like you are falling.
I have learned alot this past week. Chief among them is that I'm not as young as I used to be. I got alot of help with this production, but that I need more folks to step up and support the productions themselves. More mammals. On the flip side I also found that when you ask for help...you often get it. You just have to ask nicely and with enough heads up.
The cast and crew on this project were like angels all week long. They helped me out so much. No one never once said 'no' or 'that's not my job'. Everyone rolled up their sleeves and contributed, everyone was part of a team. It was incredibly rewarding.
I am fiercely proud of the work the three actors have done on this project. Whereas I am glad to have the show open and their work on display for an audience, I do feel a sense of loss in that being in rehearsal with them has been such a pleasure. I miss rehearsing with them already.
It goes without saying, and I don't want to be an egotist, but the show opened and it didn't change the world. I guess that too is always a little stinging...I should be used to it, having produced for so many years..people come, they smile, they frown, they are entertained, they are offended, I get to see the whole range...friends applaud and question and laugh...and suddenly even when the show is working and the audience is there...do you find yourself asking "Is that it?"..."Is that all there is?"
Even as you sense that you might have made something special, something to be proud of...the existential joke floats in the background like someone in the stands behind home plate waving at the camera to the caller on their cell phone, that feeling... that sense...that you have not crossed from one side of the field to the other but rather that you are only halving the distance, always halving the distance, never actually bridging its entirety. You yearn for rest, yet you despise yourself for the brief relent. You revel in the rest bit, but are already planning the next adventure. No matter how good the cocktail, it never quenches the thirst. You want desperately to live, but a small part of you cant help but you envy the dead.
You regret nothing. You tilt the brim of your hat with well earned pride, but still you can't escape the feeling that you might be a character in a Beckettian situation.
Anybody else have similar thoughts?