I enrolled in school again. I had decided to study Theatre.
After doing The Vagina Monologues I knew unequivocally that I wanted to learn everything I could about acting, and about this beautiful world that I had admired from the back of the houses I worked in for so many years. I'd been in love with musicals and sung my whole life, and had always watched the Tonys, but knew so very little about the art, really. By the time Ragtime rolled around I was already at school and super excited. A few months after our run, we were asked to remount the show for a special one-night presentation. My friend Patrice, who had played the role of Sarah's Friend for the run, had been living in Toronto during that time but was now out of the country. I was asked to take the part and freaked out with glee. If you're familiar with Ragtime, Sarah's Friend is a featured soloist in a song called Till We Reach That Day. It is a masterpiece of a song that concludes Act I of the show. Getting to do it for even one night was a spine-tingling moment.
I truly loved acting, along with singing and songwriting of course. I didn't even really know what producing was, and all of a sudden this email is in my inbox.
For heaven's sake... I was KIDDING!
Weeks earlier, one of the V-Day producers (V-Day is the organization that produces TVM) had mentioned casually that she wouldn't be doing the show again and would need to start looking soon for a replacement. I, having a penchant for making jokes that have no basis in reality, had said - in jest - "Heck, no problem, I'll do it!" Now it appeared that my bluff was being called -- did I REALLY want to replace the producer? Hmm... conventional wisdom would say that if you can't define the word "producer" in a theatrical context, the smart answer would be "HELL NO." They told me that if I wanted the job, they thought I'd be great. They liked my personality (aw shucks), they liked my maturity (aka "aged"-ness") and they liked my communication skills (Yay for all those years of talking to myself!). They thought I'd make a great producer, but that if I took on the role I should probably bring on a co-producer since I'd never produced anything before. Excuse me, I HAD organized things before, just not "theatre" things. I'd organized huge multi-artist musical concerts and benefits, including 3 big benefits after 9/11. I knew how to get 10 musicians on the same bill and fill a room -- surely producing a play couldn't be that much more difficult??? I thought "I'm studying Theatrical Performance. This is a great opportunity to be immersed in theatre for a couple of months in a role other than acting. I could learn a lot..." But I wasn't sure if I wanted the job.
Still, there were two things I WAS sure of.
The first thing I knew:
* I knew the show like the back of my hand. Unlike everyone else in the cast, I hadn't just rehearsed the play, performed in it, read the book and maybe seen it once or twice in the past. I'd seen it about 60 times. I knew the script by heart. I'd seen it performed by rotating casts -- everyone from Sonja Smits to Chantal Kreviazuk to Mary Walsh to Erin Brockovich -- and I KNEW what worked and what didn't. I'd stood at the back of the theatre and watched it intently... making notes in my mind... having the aforementioned discussions with myself about why that line had been delivered that way? Why that motion? That emotion? That interaction? That pause? THAT light???
One of the out-going producers promised that if I took the position she'd prepare me a full production binder that would have everything I needed. A step-by-step on how to produce this show, a bunch of contacts, logistical info, how to find sponsors, booking celebrities, troubleshooting, etc. Well with that kind of help -- surely I could figure it out...
Oh, and the second thing I knew:
* The producer had the power to choose the director.
I said yes. Thank goodness for naivete!
Then she advised me to choose a strong director. She had a list of suggestions. It was paramount, she said, that I choose someone who knew what she was doing. I had thought about it, and thought about it some more. I knew that I had a very strong idea of what I'd like the show to be. I knew that I didn't want to be the kind of producer who'd hire someone and then start trying to push what I wanted on them. That would make me annoying, and I try to only be annoying when absolutely necessary. So I emailed the outgoing production team and told them: "I've decided to direct it myself."
She wrote me back to say that that was a very bad plan. She told me that I didn't know what I was doing or what I was getting myself into, and that TVM wasn't something that could be risked being messed up. She didn't think that me being a first-time director for this show was in way, shape or form a good idea. It was an institution, and there were many people who would be able to do the show justice. She said that being the producer and being the director were two different things. Well thanks for clearing that up! I very politely responded that I hadn't made the decision lightly, that I had a very strong vision for the show and that I as much as I believed I could produce it, I believed even more strongly that I could direct it. She reasserted her position and STRONGLY urged me to reconsider.
I didn't.
She was angry. She was sure that she had just handed control to someone who obviously too stubborn, or stupid, or both, to realize that by having the audacity to direct it, she was systematically going to destroy the legacy of The Vagina Monologues. I told her not to worry and asked her for the production binder. The magic big book was going to point me in the right direction and give me SOME clue about wearing the V-Day Producer's hat. I was taking over running a show that returned every year and that so many people had seen and loved. I was feeling good about the directing part. But this big thick saviour was going to help me with the producing part... was going to teach me how to produce this now world-famous play when I'd never produced a play in my life. I waited. I phoned. I emailed. She didn't respond. I got the distinct impression that I was being taught a lesson of some sort, that the continued delay was a silent "You're so confident? You think you can do this? Let's see you do it NOW."
The binder never arrived.
...
xo TT
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