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Filmmaker's Diary:
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... And then came November 24th. Slated as our final performance (although we'd already decided to extend the run after Thanksgiving), we began the show like any other, and it was going well. The play takes place in the main character Marie's room in a boarding house in Vienna in 1923. We reached the point in the play where I, as Freder, expose the secret that Marie's boyfriend Petrell is betraying her with Irene, a rival medical student. I jump on the makeshift coffee table in this moment, trying to orchestrate the battle I've stirred up, and Marie angrily tries to stop me. Only at this performance she didn't, at least not right away. I was surprised, but we went on. It happens. It actually led to an exciting moment of danger as everyone reacted to the revelation. But she was slow to get up. We came offstage at intermission, and I heard her say my name in a very distressed tone. She said she couldn't continue. She'd fallen ill, feeling terribly dizzy and nauseus. It turned out that she was slow to come in with that cue earlier because she'd just nearly passed out! The fear of which, of course, exacerbated her already delicate condition. I tried to get her to breathe and relax so that she could soldier on, but she was far too weak and shaky. Also Act Two is where she has to have a knockdown dragout fight with the chick who stole her boyfriend (she throws her to the floor and ties her by the hair to a cupboard), and an emotional freakout when the boyfriend finally leaves, so I had no choice but to call the show -- right in the middle.
A live performance is a lot like a boulder sitting on top of a hill. Once you get it rolling, it doesn't stop until it gets to the end. Usually. Since that day I've spoken to dozens of friends in the world of theatre, and not one of them could say that they'd experienced that. Starting a show...and not finishing it. I was so flummoxed at the time that I failed to make the connection between this and what happened to PopCanon at the Last Show Ever. [Neditor: Oh right, and I'm the self-absorbed asshole!]
The ironing is delicious.
So I sent the producer Thorin out to tell the audience that we weren't continuing and to hand out refunds. They all surprisingly opted for rainchecks instead, wanting to come back and see the rest of it. I guess they were digging it. Someone in particular was most decidedly digging it. I know because Thorin was talking to him during the intermission, and he couldn't hold back his enthusiasm for it. He was a reviewer for the Los Angeles Times. Thorin worked his ass off to get them to send somebody. The LA Times, being a major American newspaper, doesn't come out to review just anything. They're even more reticent when it's a group nobody's ever heard of playing in a 28 seat space behind a chiropractor's office. But they were there. And it appeared they were going to give us some good ink. Oh well. It's very disappointing, but unlike PopCanon, we've got two more weeks of performances to make up for it. It's not like this was our Last Show Ever...
Cut to two weeks later (we'd decided to stay 'dark' for the Thanksgiving weekend and come back rested and strong for the final six shows). We got together for a pickup rehearsal two days before the next show to get back in the swing of things. We approach these rehearsals very loosely and irreverently, goofing off at every step, so they're lots of fun. All are happy and excited to be back. All but Marie. She arrives after the others and is visibly not right. She appears to have lost about 10 lbs., and looks stressed and emotional. She asks to speak to me privately and almost immediately breaks down. She tells me that what happened to her on stage two weeks earlier turns out not to have been the result of a flu or a cold or food poisoning or anything like that. What she experienced was a nervous breakdown -- one that hadn't really stopped since that day. In addition to the weight loss (13lbs. to be exact), the doctor told her she'd developed an abnormal heart rhythm. On top of those, the stress of having to return to an extremely demanding role (and the fear that what happened before might happen again, only worse) was taking a too heavy toll on her. And as much as it killed her to say so, she wanted out.
I didn't know what to say. We'd gotten the boulder rolling again. The rest of the cast was psyched, reservations for the last shows were coming in (albeit slowly), the reviewer from the LA Times had spoken in such high terms to the entertainment editor about what he'd seen that they agreed to come back and cover it again: all things were ready. I care a great deal about all this. But I care more about her. Nonetheless, I convinced her to keep what was going on between us, and go thru with the rehearsal, then go home, sleep on it, and we'd talk in the morning.
The next day I spent an hour on the phone trying gently but desperately to get her to suit up. I hoped that walking the play would make her feel better and more secure and possibly change her mind. She told me that I could probably guilt her into doing it if it weren't for the fact that this was serious. I kept trying, taking different tacks until I felt like a sleazy salesman. "What can I do to put you in this play today?" It wasn't fun, but I felt I owed it to myself and the rest of the cast to do absolutely everything I could to make this work. She finally sold me when she told me that all of her life has been spent trying to please others, sacrificing of herself so that everyone else's needs would be met. She loved this play too, and she didn't want to disappoint us, but now it was finally time to put herself first. It takes courage to do what she did. My heart is broken, but I've gotta say, she's got balls.
After that I had the shitty task of calling the cast and telling them that the unfinished show on November 24th was our last. Not much to say about that but that. They too were heartbroken. I guess we could've found someone to replace her and go on (actually I should've had understudies at the ready, but I didn't forsee this), but ultimately it seemed we should just let it go. I called all the reservations, all the rainchecks, the LA Times, blah, blah, blah. We had one last blowout party at the theatre to say goodbye, two days later we took down our set, and it was over. Immediately after that I decided to lock myself in and wallow. And eat. I don't smoke anymore, or do drugs. And I can't stand to drink alone. So I eat. I think I've managed to p1ned666ut on all the weight that she lost. In fact, at one point I was eating so much food, that when I bit down, the pressure caused a banana to shoot out of my mouth and stick to the wall. [Nice callback.]
It was a great experience, though. And I wouldn't trade it for anything, as they say. It may have been tough to take at the end, but a shitload of people have it a lot tougher. All in all, it beats a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.