We are dragging. We are pooped.
We thought Easter would make for a tiny audience, but not only is the clubhouse golf course crammed with duffers, but the dining room is overflowing, and they spill into the stage room to join our audience. We have close to 50 people for the matinée. I don't even look at my script this time. This will be our seventh performance in eight days; if I don't have the lines by now, screw it. Also, I think that if I were to look at my script, I'd slip into an exhausted rage. Which would probably look like a grumpy nap.
Some small notes about lights and blocking start the day, and we file into the locker room early to avoid the increasing audience members who seem OK with waiting in their seats for an hour. Your Sister is going ga-ga for planning the cast party, and I give the rundown to the cast and crew. I'll send them directions and the menu later in the week.
It's our first show in the daytime, and the sunlight creeping in from all sides diminishes our blackouts. We can also clearly see everyone in the audience. The entire second row is there to see the murderer (mostly family), and they're reactions affect the play a bit. Nothing bad, mind you, but one of my rants against him in the last scene becomes a comic monologue when they get tickled by my insults. I feel like I do OK. So much of my role is in the voice as my stage movThey all applaud well and give us lots of compliments on the way out, and I just about fall asleep driving home.
I am looking so forward to doing virtually anything else tomorrow night.
Picture of the Day
I can't convey how hilarious this was when I was in high school. It was never not funny. We thought quoting Monty Python was the way to woo girls back then.