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About two weeks ago, the Eldredge Players held auditions for this year's spring musical, Oliver.

This is the first spring show I haven't been involved with in nine years. For seven of the last nine I've directed. For the two years I wasn't directing, I handled publicity and called the show. But this year I made it clear: I wasn't directing, doing publicity, or calling the show. Last year's show was my last show.

I told my friend Judee, who is the artistic director, I would feel a twinge of jealousy when things started up. Sure enough, I was right. Seeing people post things on Facebook about auditions or meeting up with old friends at the local Stop and Grab (the local supermarket seems to be the place where I do all my socializing.) There's a part of me that wishes I was the one doing the casting, or trading small talk with Pastor Tom at the old church where they do their rehearsing. They are nice people and I enjoyed all the shows I was involved with.

That's just part of the story, however. The bigger part of the story is that I am awfully happy to be doing something different this year. Feeling those twinges of jealously is nothing compared to feeling the relief I have over not having to prepare for the auditions, or map out the rehearsal schedule, or spend late nights doing the blocking. The truth is, I was tired and kind of bored with the whole routine. It was time to shake things up, and I am glad that I put an end to that chapter of my life.

Another part of me, however, is anxious to jump into the next chapter. I have been writing away (although not on Live Journal, which bothers me a little,) but there are other parts of the chapter that need to come into focus, like: finding a bigger place to live for us. I want that bigger place so badly. I can see myself in that home with a den, with my manuscripts lined up neatly in a row, with my shelves full of old fashioned books. Yes, one can write practically anywhere, in this day and age, but that's where I wish to write.

As much as I am enjoying my time away, I am determined to see the show when it goes up, and to speak positively of it, too. To be critical would to be petty, I think, and amount to trying to kill something just because I am not a part of it. I wanted this time away, and my wish has been granted. Now I must be positive and supportive from a distance, so that the group can continue to grow and thrive, even if it no longer feeds my ego. It makes other people happy, people that I really like. I need to support them, which is the only thing I can do to make the transition complete.
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"This way, Doc. This way! Come on, come on!"

Footsteps, creeping across the floors. Huddled shadows move through the empty church.

"Shhhh! Quiet, quiet." Suddenly, a loud bang is heard. "Ow. Dammit!"

"Anyone have a light? Where's a light..."

Suddenly, the lights go on. The ten men look around, slightly shocked, adjusting to the sudden brightness. Like field mice in the dead of night, they cautiously scan the area.

The leader of the group stops, places a finger under his chin. "Okay, so where's the best place to hold this game..."

One of the gangsters scans the altar, points to it. "Hold on, hold! I see a table over there. If we just remove the big book, we're all set!"

The rest of the group hit him on the back, shaking their heads.

###

A message from my musical director: Have bronchitis. Can't talk. Sound like Harvey Fierstein. Won't be at rehearsal Thursday.

Well, shit. Now what am I supposed to do? My choreographer's gallivanting around in New York City with her daughter, of all people, so that means that I can either cancel the rehearsal or face all my gamblers on my own.

I coud block out a scene with them. Heh. As if. That would pre-suppose that I had all my blocking down.

"Ted, don't waste a rehearsal, whatever you do," warns my friend, Hunchback Mike, on the phone as I drive home that night, thinking about what to do with the guys from "Guys and Dolls" the next day.

So, what am I going to do with these characters? Wait! Characters...characters...hey!

Suddenly, it dawns on me. One of the things that always gets pushed to one side during the rehearsal process is any focus on character development. Between the rush of blocking, choreography, and music, there just never seems to be enough time to set aside any time to really work on it.

Maybe this is the perfect place to actually do something about that. The rehearsal had been targeted for all of the gangsters to learn "Luck Be a Lady," along with Sky. And I love all of the names that they've been given...things like Tobias the Terrible, Brainy Baxter, Big Hearted Charlie, The Lemon Drop Kid...all character names from other Damon Runyon stories or movies. Maybe this was a chance to actually bring those names to life.

So, armed with my script, a pair of dice, and a wad of counterfeit cash, that's what I walk into the rehearsal space looking to do on Thursday night.

We start by having all the guys introduce themselves by their character names, and then launch into a discussion about what character consists of. The way they dress, the way they speak. They way they move, how they perceive themselves. How they interact with others.

And then, we launch into a short improv. A dinner party, where each has been invited. What kind of host would invite these rascals to a dinner is beyond me. I have them stand outside and file in, one by one, and introduce themselves, to us and to themselves.

Then we sit down to play a game of craps. This becomes the most enjoyable part of the evening, I think. Craps is an important part of the show--the musical all centers around the "Oldest Established Permanent Floating Crap Game," after all...so, making sure the guys have an understanding about what craps is all about is pretty damn important.

It takes about thirty minutes. The play goes to each guy, all around the room. each one plays a round of craps while the other guys place side bets, comment on the action, roll away.

Then, the final exercise. A big part of the show centers around the gamblers taking over the Mission for a game of craps, and it had occurred to me the night before that our rehearsal area, which literally is held in a church, is the perfect place for an improv about what happened.

So, I place the guys downstairs and turn all the lights off in the church. And then, I have them creep up the stairs to play their crap game. Then, at the end, I have Brannigan burst into the room, along with the pastor of the church.

And I have Annie, who's serving as my stage manager this time around, tape the whole thing. It's hard to hear and dark in a lot of spots, but in the video, you can hear the laughter, you can hear some of the wiseass comments that the guys came up. It does make me smile, every time I view it.

And then, one last exercise: go out to the local watering hole and have a few drinks. Very, very important exercise.

"You just moved these characters ahead ten rehearsals with what you did tonight," said my Brannigan, nodding his head appreciatively.

Well, I hope so. And I have to admit, it was a lot of fun, turning the lemons I had been handed into some damn sweet lemonade.

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