Oh, What a Knight, Part II: We signed up to be directors but it was just an act

Okay. So, after a lot of hemming & hawing, vehement refusals, running away, hiding, swearing, and crying, we finally agreed to sign on to direct the much-anticipated middle school play.

Now what?

Mostly paralysis. 

Interspersed with despair.

Which evolved into violently turning on one another. After an exhaustive stretch of emotional, verbal, and physical abuse, we resigned ourselves to our self-imposed fate.

"So, how did Bev do it?" we wondered, reminiscing about all of the Broadway-quality productions performed under the expert tutelage of our renowned predecessor. This, of course, resulted in a downward spiral of self-loathing and additional recrimination. 

Suddenly, we had it.

We are NOT Bev. 

Self-sacrificing. Focused. Serious. Knowledgeable. A patron of the arts.

We're Erin and Amy. 

Obviously, I can only speak of myself here: Self-serving. Distracting and distractible. Ridiculous. Clueless. A patron of Patron. 

The clouds cleared. We shifted into gear and, giggling, began to lurch forward.

There was only one clear established rule:  If it wasn't fun and didn't amuse us...we didn't do it.

Enter: Auditions.

Two hours of sitting, shoulder-to-shoulder, watching kids, ages 9 to 13, singing and dancing to the chorus of "I Want It That Way" by the Backstreet Boys. We couldn't have been more delighted as our aspiring actors earnestly auditioned, tossing in spins, sways, and sashays. Erin and I communicated with discreet shoulder bumps and inappropriate side pinches. I froze when one of our honeys borrowed her choreography from the gas station scene in Magic Mike. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever witnessed in my career as a director. Little did I know, it was just going to keep getting better.

We didn't know how to run rehearsals. We knew about limited attention spans. We knew if it wasn't fun and engaging, the kids wouldn't want to do it. We understood the importance of routine and consistency. We knew how to be camp councilors. 

Wait.

We knew how to be camp councilors.

"What are you doing?" a colleague asked, catching the beginning of one of our scheduled rehearsals. "We start each rehearsal with some improvisational exercises and team-building collaboration activities," one of our actors answered as we hopped over imaginary marbles, moo-ed like cows, and yodeled "An Old Austrian." Our colleague looked confused. "Funny," she said, "That looks like a game I played in summer c--" Erin slammed the door in her face.

We played to our strengths. Erin developed and taught the musical numbers while I tackled script reading and character development. I had to explain a LOT of puns. We discovered a LOT about ourselves. Erin and I have always balanced one another but, until now, it was surface-level stuff. Bright, sparkly, positive extroverted energy (Erin) balanced by normalcy (me). But, as co-directors, we somehow swapped roles. Erin wasn't a director...she was a dictator. The children and I were terrified. She ordered us around. Expected us to start on time. "You can be replaced, you know," she snapped one day. The children comforted me as I cried in the corner, assuring me that she didn't really mean it. When did Erin become the mean one? I complimented, coaxed, and cajoled. However, we both really enjoyed yelling "Cut! Do it again," so much that we had t-shirts made. Yelling "Pause" usually resulted in our actors yelling back "Hands" so we limited that so as to avoid an up-rising.

We shredded the script.

Obliterated the ending.

Our actors were fully-versed on the term "4th wall" and were devilishly intent on breaking it as often as we wanted.

 We created guest-starring cameo appearances. 

We interrupted the play, mid-scene, for an interactive dance party with the audience.

We dumped the final song and replaced it with a re-written version of "Oh, What a Night" and let the cast free-style the finale. 

Erin and Amy had fun.

And, because of THAT, our actors had fun.

And, hopefully, because of THAT, our audience had fun.

As our experience didn't feel like a complete failure, we've been perusing possible scripts for next year. "Here's one about a little girl who gets swept by a storm into a new, magical land," Erin said. "How original," I commented, ignoring her glare. "Ya know," she snapped, "You can be replaced." 

You heard it here, folks...our next production should be pretty Oz-some.

Maybe the finale can be "She's a brick...house."