LET'S PLAY

(Flaming Bore looking motherly in "Our Town")

At a gab fest last night with some gal pals, I learned that our school may be dropping its speech and drama curriculum after this year. The teacher has resigned and the classes are small...mainly because kids have fewer electives thanks to (shudder) President Bush's No Child Left Behind debacle. I think it's a darned shame. Where else are young people going to learn to speak coherently? Oh, never mind. I forgot. Text messaging has eliminated any need for oral discourse in the real world.

Still, I think theatrical productions are important. Although I was never leading lady material and was always assigned minor roles, I had some of my finer moments in high school "acting up" behind stage. I had lots of extra time on my hands waiting in the dark to deliver my four or five lines, so I got to sit on guys' laps rehearsing and giggling, well, actually just giggling. It was a great setting for learning the fine art of flirting.

Our junior play was "Teahouse of the August Moon," a comedy about an army captain (played by Windy; see March 13th and 30th blogs) sent to Americanize a Japanese village after World War II, with the help of an interpreter, Sakini (played by Rat; see Jan. 17th blog). The rest of the cast of 40, including a goat, were the villagers. I was Old Woman's Daughter--so insignificant that I didn't even have a name--so you know that my best lines were, indeed, delivered behind the scenes with the guys. (Old Woman, my stage mother, was played by Literary Diva; see March 24th blog.)

Our director was Mr. C., the Spanish teacher. Now, we did have a speech and drama instructor at our high school, but she had learned through prior experience that she no longer wanted the chaos in her life of whipping a mob into shape for a major production. She was married to the school superintendent, so it was easy for her to cop out and have the directorship dumped on someone else. That's where Mr. C. came in. He was young, creative, and enthusiastic, so he filled the bill.

The most memorable event in the play, in my mind, came during rehearsals. A golf cart was being turned into an army jeep, and the boy driving it, Jimmy Mac, was hesitant about how to maneuver it through the double doors into the auditorium. It was tricky, and Mr. C. was getting impatient with Jimmy Mac's attempts, so, being the director, he finally decided to show him how to do it. That's what directors are for...right?

The rest of the cast was sitting in the audience seats watching attentively as Mr. C. proceeded to take charge. Out in the hallway, he gunned the engine of the golf cart, which then roared into the auditorium, out of Mr. C.'s control, blasting out the first row of seating. Fortunately, no one was seated there, but a group of us in the second row screamed and jumped, then began laughing hysterically with everyone else...except Mr. C., who was muttering swear words as he dislodged the cart from the busted chairs. I have no clue how he explained the accident to the powers-that-be at our school, but it was the last play he directed at FHS and, sadly, he moved on to another school a few months later.

Our senior play, the drama "Our Town," was directed by an English teacher fresh out of college. It was nowhere nearly as much fun as doing "Teahouse," and no collision insurance was required, but my character did have a name.