At the first rehearsal of every show I direct, I sit the cast down and give them, “The Talk.” (It’s the same one every time, so if I have actors who have worked with me before, they begin to mimic me as I speak, the little darlings.)
The talk details my List of Three Priorities. First, I want them to grow in some way. Second, I want them to have fun. Third, I want them to produce an entertaining show.
The first priority is the most complex. It starts with the premise that absolutely nothing is worth doing unless you are going change in some way. That change might be something as immense as acquiring a new skill. Maybe it’s as simple as becoming healthier by reducing stress. These actions can include simple things, like taking a walk, taking a nap, going on vacation. Maybe they are more complicated, like starting a new hobby, getting married, joining a softball league. Each of these actions changes you, sometimes in big ways, oftentimes in small.
In the realm of educational theatre, what does “grow in some way” look like? This can include “theatre things,” like learning how to stage fence or do an accent. It might include “performance things,” like projection or annunciation. It might include “social things,” like learning to work together or accepting criticism without crying.
Your actors might not learn something you can name, but there are plenty of benefits they can catch. They might make a new friend. They might discover that they really don’t like acting, and now have enough evidence to tell their mother that they never want to audition again and please can they try out for the track team? They might have spent a bunch of weeks with people who accepted them, and gotten a better idea of why they really are special.
Making this item number one greatly affects how rehearsals are run, how goals are prioritized, and how people are treated. By putting the kids’ development at the forefront, I consciously avoid getting bogged down in the vain attempt for theatrical perfection. Let’s leave that for the Broadway folks. I will gladly settle for theatrical excellence--or even above averageness--if it accompanies the children becoming better people along the way.
The second priority is easy. Let’s have fun. It’s called a play, for goodness sake! Just like Isaac Asimov’s Robot Rules, these rules come with caveats. We shall have fun, unless it interferes with Rule #1. If all we do is come together and have fun, we might as well be hosting recess. Recess is fine, don’t get me wrong, but it should stay at the playground.
This does not mean that every minute of every rehearsal will be fun and games. It means that when you and your company think about their time together, those memories should be mostly positive. Dreading rehearsal because it is drudgery is bad. Dreading rehearsal because it is hard work and exhausting is fantastic.
The last priority that the kids need to worry about is making a good production. We will put together a good show, as long as it does not interfere with Rule #2 or Rule #1. This isn’t an afterthought, by any means. It is important, and everyone should do their best. After all, it is no fun being on stage in front of an audience and forgetting your lines or dancing yourself into a tangled heap. No one would want to remember the show as “the time I humiliated myelf in front of hundreds of strangers” during his therapy session. The reason this is last is so that no one--you especially--forgets what the point is. The point is to make better people, not better productions.
If you make the performance the primary purpose, you might have to step on some toes to get it done right. You might have to cause some tears in order to drag the right stuff out of those young performers. You might scare a future superstar back into his shell. This is the step where the hard work begins, so it will be the most challenging, probably the most frustrating, and definitely the most visible. Just don’t make it the most important.
Most of the productions I have helmed with this list of priorities have turned out to be entertaining and tightly spun. Those that didn’t quite reach the bar were still successful because they were done by second graders who only needed to impress their parents (and grandparents). Everyone knows that parents (and grandparents) make the easist audiences.
I believe that another big reason this philosophy works is that it takes the stress of needing to be perfect away from everyone involved. With that albatross out of the way, actors and designers alike can relax and focus on doing the best they can. We can also accept those things that aren’t going to get better, which gives us the time to focus on those things we can make shine.
When the final curtain falls, everyone involved can be proud of what they have accomplished, have fond memories of their time together, and enjoy the ways they have grown--but not necessarily in that order.