Fade to Grey

There's always a gloom following the close of a show. Actors expend a lot of time and energy preparing for a production, be it a run of one performance or of hundreds. There's the audition process, which can be very easy (cold reads from a script) or very stressful (prepared monologues and repeated callbacks); and then there's the rehearsal process.

In my personal experience, rehearsals last anywhere from four to six weeks, usually nightly five or six days a week. During that time, an actor spends two or three hours each night with the director and the rest of the cast, and a bond forms, a somewhat familial connectedness between and among members of the cast and the director. Inside jokes are created that can last in the minds of each involved forever, and are recalled to the strange looks from unwitting company at the raucous, seemingly unjustified laughter.

A small group, a handful of people, or a throng apply themselves to the common goal of opening night and the performance run, each sharing in the joy, the stress, the exhaustion, and the exhilaration of gestating this baby through to its birth.

And then it's over.


The cast, crew, and director (seated) of End Days, by Deborah Zoe Laufer. (photo: Josie Rivera)


Though friendships have formed, each goes his own separate way into the gloom. The next step for one may be another show, but with a different group of people, with a different director, perhaps at a different venue. All needs to be learned again: names, lines, movement, inside jokes. The next step for another may be quiet evenings again for a while. But, whether jumping back in or laying low, the let-down is real. The depression has weight. It's withdrawal. Coming down from the heights of energy flow, adrenaline rush, the flush of the audiences' adulation — or at least their polite applause. Stepping out of the warm glow of the lights, of the focus of attentive eyes seeking to be entertained and hoping to be enthralled.


Nelson has some questions for Arthur. Julio Knapp (left) and Tony Gasbarro. (photo: Josie Rivera)


My most recent turn on the stage, in a fun comedy-drama called End Days, just ended this past Saturday night, and I'm going through the typical stages of withdrawal, however there's a strange feeling of abruptness with this one. The past two productions I was involved in — two different summer runs, a year apart from each other, of a comedy called Lounging — were three- and four- weekend runs (15 and 20 performances), respectively. At the time, they seemed to go on forever, but — suddenly — they stopped. End Days was a two-weekend run of only seven performances; in comparison to the summer shows, it feels like we were chopped off at the knees.


Sylvia "encourages" the family to pray. Left to right: Emily Hosman, Julio Knapp, Tony Gasbarro,
BethAnn Smukowski (photo: Josie Rivera)


So, on top of the usual feelings of withdrawal, there is the feeling of having been cheated out of a "complete" run.

Regardless, it's done. Whether it's on to the next show, or laying low for a while, I'll keep you posted.



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