A Working Actor's Lament (Chapter 30)
I Guess The Jokes On Me
And I thought the theater didn't know what they had gotten themselves into.
I arrived at the theater to take the photos for "Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story" around 6:30 PM. I thought it might be a good idea to have a late Frappaccino since I was a little lethargic. Upon arriving back to the theater, the commotion was overwhelming. There was hollering from the sound and lighting guys, furniture being set on stage, actors socializing under the Tungsten-Halogen lights. Looking around, it seemed to me that there was nobody in charge. Then I heard my name in the question form: "Sean?"
Last week, I received a call from Gail, the producer of the up-coming production at Theatre Palisades, about what day would be best to take the photographs for the theater and for her cast and crew. After telling her that Tuesday would be the best day for me, she seemed to think that would not be enough time to get the photos back to her and have her develop them to post throughout the theater by opening night. After convincing me, she thought Monday would be a better day. We hung up the phone with August 14th etched into my date book.
"Gail?", I heard myself say. As she started to walk towards me, I knew this was the woman who I had conversed with the previous week. We talked for a while about what she wanted (some posed shots, some photos during the rehearsal) and what I would take (some posed shots, some photos during the rehearsal) and it seemed from the start we were on the same page. I think the page was right, but we were reading different books at libraries across town from each other.
I walked out into the lobby to call my wife to tell her that I loved her (I do this just in case my aneurysm decides to burst). As I hung up the phone, an actress from the show walked up to me and introduced herself. Martha then informed me that she would love if I took some solo photos of her for publicity. I could feel the vein in my brain start to give. I told her that I take the photos for the theater and I am sure to take some close up as well as group shots throughout the night. As she walked away, the bubble in my brain began to subside...for the time being.
When I walked back into the theater, I watched as the stage manager lowered a slab of wood with the word "Apollo" painted on it in big, red letters. As the piece of death wood began to inch towards the stage, one of the two cables holding it up loosened and caused the board to fall an additional foot or two. Realizing that this might not be the best thing, heads were put together and decided to lower the "Apollo" billboard to the stage and prop it up for the audience to see. Knowing that I would have to take photos, I was not sure if this sign was part of the show and needed to be photographed, or was I to shoot around it. I inquired about this to the producer, and, I assume the heads got back together and decided that it was better to have this huge chunk of wood off the stage for the rehearsal. They informed the set designer about this, and as he struggled with removing the cable from the wood, the stage manager asked him if he needed any help.
"We need to move this because it is in the photographers way."
Being that I was only 10 feet away from him, his condescending, passive-aggressiveness brought back that pulsing sensation in my head. I think this is where I began to black out...or maybe it was just wishful thinking that I would. All I know is that the pounding vein I heard in my head stayed with me for a while.
For the next three and a half hours, I took photos...photos of scenes that were repeated over and over again. When I got bored of taking the same photos of the same scenes, I would sit there and rub the vein protruding from my temple (when would it burst and put me out of my misery?). I kept thinking that the producer wanted me to come on this day and they were not even ready for me. Then the lights came up at 10:30 PM. I looked down at my camera and noticed I had taken over 300 photos...and realized we had only been able to get through Act One.
Being that I have a job I have to get up at 5:00 AM for, I informed the producer that I had to go. I don't think they were planning on continuing onto Act Two, but I couldn't take a chance. I heard the director giving notes to the actors (not really understanding why, since nobody really had any time to act up there) and then release them for the night. A couple of the actors came up to me as I was packing up and asked if I was coming back tomorrow for Act Two.
"HELL, NO!!", I heard my vein scream.
I called my wife on the way home, explaining that if I wasn't going to sleep behind the wheel of the car for the next 30 minutes, she wasn't sleeping either. However, as I talked to her, I found myself feeling bad that the actors were not going to have any photos of the second act of this show they had put their blood, sweat and tears into.
I will call the theater tomorrow and see what I can do for them. Damn, I hate my conscious. You would think that my aneurysm could have taken that part of my brain out.
And I thought the theater didn't know what they had gotten themselves into.
I arrived at the theater to take the photos for "Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story" around 6:30 PM. I thought it might be a good idea to have a late Frappaccino since I was a little lethargic. Upon arriving back to the theater, the commotion was overwhelming. There was hollering from the sound and lighting guys, furniture being set on stage, actors socializing under the Tungsten-Halogen lights. Looking around, it seemed to me that there was nobody in charge. Then I heard my name in the question form: "Sean?"
Last week, I received a call from Gail, the producer of the up-coming production at Theatre Palisades, about what day would be best to take the photographs for the theater and for her cast and crew. After telling her that Tuesday would be the best day for me, she seemed to think that would not be enough time to get the photos back to her and have her develop them to post throughout the theater by opening night. After convincing me, she thought Monday would be a better day. We hung up the phone with August 14th etched into my date book.
"Gail?", I heard myself say. As she started to walk towards me, I knew this was the woman who I had conversed with the previous week. We talked for a while about what she wanted (some posed shots, some photos during the rehearsal) and what I would take (some posed shots, some photos during the rehearsal) and it seemed from the start we were on the same page. I think the page was right, but we were reading different books at libraries across town from each other.
I walked out into the lobby to call my wife to tell her that I loved her (I do this just in case my aneurysm decides to burst). As I hung up the phone, an actress from the show walked up to me and introduced herself. Martha then informed me that she would love if I took some solo photos of her for publicity. I could feel the vein in my brain start to give. I told her that I take the photos for the theater and I am sure to take some close up as well as group shots throughout the night. As she walked away, the bubble in my brain began to subside...for the time being.
When I walked back into the theater, I watched as the stage manager lowered a slab of wood with the word "Apollo" painted on it in big, red letters. As the piece of death wood began to inch towards the stage, one of the two cables holding it up loosened and caused the board to fall an additional foot or two. Realizing that this might not be the best thing, heads were put together and decided to lower the "Apollo" billboard to the stage and prop it up for the audience to see. Knowing that I would have to take photos, I was not sure if this sign was part of the show and needed to be photographed, or was I to shoot around it. I inquired about this to the producer, and, I assume the heads got back together and decided that it was better to have this huge chunk of wood off the stage for the rehearsal. They informed the set designer about this, and as he struggled with removing the cable from the wood, the stage manager asked him if he needed any help.
"We need to move this because it is in the photographers way."
Being that I was only 10 feet away from him, his condescending, passive-aggressiveness brought back that pulsing sensation in my head. I think this is where I began to black out...or maybe it was just wishful thinking that I would. All I know is that the pounding vein I heard in my head stayed with me for a while.
For the next three and a half hours, I took photos...photos of scenes that were repeated over and over again. When I got bored of taking the same photos of the same scenes, I would sit there and rub the vein protruding from my temple (when would it burst and put me out of my misery?). I kept thinking that the producer wanted me to come on this day and they were not even ready for me. Then the lights came up at 10:30 PM. I looked down at my camera and noticed I had taken over 300 photos...and realized we had only been able to get through Act One.
Being that I have a job I have to get up at 5:00 AM for, I informed the producer that I had to go. I don't think they were planning on continuing onto Act Two, but I couldn't take a chance. I heard the director giving notes to the actors (not really understanding why, since nobody really had any time to act up there) and then release them for the night. A couple of the actors came up to me as I was packing up and asked if I was coming back tomorrow for Act Two."HELL, NO!!", I heard my vein scream.
I called my wife on the way home, explaining that if I wasn't going to sleep behind the wheel of the car for the next 30 minutes, she wasn't sleeping either. However, as I talked to her, I found myself feeling bad that the actors were not going to have any photos of the second act of this show they had put their blood, sweat and tears into.
I will call the theater tomorrow and see what I can do for them. Damn, I hate my conscious. You would think that my aneurysm could have taken that part of my brain out.
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