In the Moment

Time is a strange thing. In many ways, in my head it's still July and I'm going to have get up tomorrow and drag my ass to a job where everyone is trying to destroy everyone else, and in other ways it's already January 2, 2008 and I'm planning for the coming year.

It's the right now that I'm struggling with. Struggling, but making progress: serious resumes are going out and getting response; teeny, tiny buds for my new little business are emerging; the paperwork for my major life shift is getting done, if only in fits and starts; and for the first time in a long time I'm really enjoying my life. Yes there are moments of stress, like when I realize that student-loan payments loom, but then I take a deep breath an realize that I'm projecting myself into the End Days and I settle back into the reality of the moment, rededicating myself to my multiple projects.

And last night, for the first time in at least two years I went to a live theater production. Since retiring from the stage nearly a decade ago, I haven't really felt compelled to return to the theater as a civilian. Too frustrating. Too much energy expended mourning what woulda, coulda, shoulda been. But last night it felt like being visited by an old friend. What was particularly pleasant was the fact that the theater was at the end of the block and I could take a nice, quiet stroll home and slip into bed.

The production was in a wildly inappropriate space, long and narrow; the audience seated in one long row of cheap folding chairs against the wall; the set, mere scavenged pieces of furniture suggesting locales; the lighting grossly inadequate; the costumes, pulled from the actors' own closets, were uninspired; the script at least one major re-write away from being good; and the acting a spectrum of amateurish gesticulation and subtle, heart-breaking nuance.

I loved it!

This may have been the first time since I was sixteen that I went to the theater and was able to manage the critic in my head. During the performance I didn't second-guess the director or the actor; I didn't tell myself in some form that they were damn lucky to have me in the audience; I wasn't simultaneously creating my own production of the script in my head while I watched this one unfold in front of my eyes; and I wasn't cursing myself for not actually being in a New York theater -- where REAL theater happens -- and holding court on the inadequacies of whatever production was lucky to have me as an audience member.

I simply watched the play and enjoyed it. It was what it was. Yes there were flaws, and yes it might have been slicker had there been more money behind the production. But it had a freshness to it. There's an old Stephen Sondheim lyric -- an actress is quoting one of her first reviews that says, "At least she's sincere..." -- a hint of condescension. Yet, this production had a sincerity and vibrancy that wasn't colored with ambition. Perhaps it's my own personal baggage, but I found that thrilling. This performance was ephemeral and just for the eight people in that room last night. There was no one in the audience who might help these actors build a bigger career. This production isn't a stepping stone for anyone. It was sincere.

The cast included five actors. There were eight of us in the audience. At thirty percent capacity, last night's performance might have been considered a big crowd for most productions in Chicago. The play started with an actor and actress both giving declamatory speeches to the audience, and both had been panned in recent reviews. I can tell you that when a production receives a bad review the cast has a very hard time working up even the most fundamental level of enthusiasm for a performance. This cast was no different. But as the performance progressed and the cast got the sense that the audience was with them, they warmed, and by the second act even the weakest actor was "living in the moment" and giving a fine performance. There was nothing but the actor, the text, and the audience, and that second act might be one of the best I've ever seen.

Don't get me wrong: I have no interest in returning to a life in the theater -- at least at this moment. I'm too busy trying to be an entrepreneur/writer/human-resources manager/singer/scholar to want to be an actor again too. But an occasional visit to a black-painted room filled with found furniture and aluminum folding chairs isn't necessarily a bad idea.