Next weekend is the world premiere of the never before seen, theatrical extravaganza called ‘Back to Life’.
It is part of a showcase for short plays being held by the theatre group of which I am a member. There are 8 plays in total ranging in length from about 10 to 15 minutes.
It is being held in the Pearse Centre on Pearse Street (apparently this is the family home of Patrick Pearse – I did not know that)
It is a play that I wrote myself back way back in November when I as cohabiting with Flatenemy in the Wisteria Lane-esque suburb of Castleknock. I suppose you could state that despite the main male character having a different first name to mine, and despite some dramatic license being used, that it is an autobiographical piece.
I am directing this play also. The original intention was for the male character to be played by someone else and all was going well – I had the 2 roles cast, when life intervened – an incredible job opportunity in another country presented itself to the actor, and he – quite sensibly accepted said job offer.
Which left me with a slight dilemma – I needed to recast, and I decided that who better to play the role, than my own good self. Thankfully the woman playing the female lead remains.
So here I am – writer, director and co-star – what could possibly go wrong.
Well today we had a group rehearsal where the directors and casts of the various short plays met up to give some feedback and ideas to the other.
The deafening feedback I received was that I need to learn my lines.
This is typical behaviour on my part – I get cast in a play and only at the point where people look at me with a worried expression do I realise that the time for fun and games is over and I need to knuckle down.
I felt wretched. But it is a salutary lesson.
I need to spend the rest of this evening swotting.
It is 10 pages – it is eminently doable.
The pressure is on though – as I wrote the effing play and I am the male lead in the play, which is sort of about me. If it sucks then there nowhere to hide – the blame will fall squarely on my shoulders. I can’t blame the script – as I wrote that. I can’t blame the director – that would be me. I can’t blame my co-star as she is excellent.
I need to learn those lines and fast.
1 thought on “A rehearsal of doom”
Want to wish you well but I know how superstitious you thespians are about these things get so um, there’s no crying in baseball?
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