This week I get on a plane, and head to NYC to be a part of a panel at BroadwayCon. Putting those words on the screen feels all at once surreal, thrilling, and fulfilling. Ever since I can remember, Musical Theatre has been on some level a part of my life, from singing in my room, to being in a chorus, to helping people prepare for auditions, to bringing my sister dinner as she directs a show. My current work as a theatre critic has only helped this to grow, and I have learned that there is one spot in this world that I love more than any other, and that is the spot of a chair in the audience of a production.
From the moment I walk into a theatrical venue, I am transformed into a different world. Be it a small community theatre, or a great performance hall, this is the world where art is created and joy happens. In the great performance halls, I think of those who have dedicated their lives to performing, writing, playing, directing, building, sewing, and making, all to try and tell a story to those who have come, from the great leaders of the world to the poor students who have saved every penny or entered a lottery every day for a year. I think of the decades of performances, the rush and thrill of the audiences that got to witness the first performances of South Pacific, West Side Story, Into the Woods, or Les Miserables.
If I am in a high school, I think of the students who have found a home and friends where they thought they had none. I think of the sweet high school boys who recently started cheering my 11 year old daughter as a closing night brought her to tears when she had to end her little walk on part at a local high school, and the confidence they gave her that she is growing into a talented, worthwhile person.
If I am at a community theatre I think of the countless hours that are put in without pay, without recognition, without fame or fortune, just put in because of love of live performance. I think of how even though it is not Broadway quality, it is improving the qualty of life for any town that chooses to allow the arts to be part of how they define their community.
I hold the program in my hand, and whether it be professionally done or made quickly on a home printer, I look at the names and I see that there are people here who want to take their evening, their energies, their focus, and tell me a story as I sit in my favorite spot. These people may be strangers, they may be friends, but throughout my evening in my chair, they will likely make me laugh or cry or think in a different way. I may see something I have never seen before. I may learn about a culture or a place I have never known before. I may see the surge of a happy story or the terror of a tragedy unfold. But I will have open eyes, I will be touched, and I will leave different than when I came.
I have found this to be true when watching little children tell a shortened story of The Jungle Book, all the way to the Broadway greats in the original cast of Hamilton. There is something special about being in that chair. I have watched bona fide superstars lose character and laugh til they cry, and I have watched young hopeful actors hit a nerve that leaves their parents, friends, and all around in a puddle of tears. I have watch novice writers vulnerably present their first works, and I have seen performances that can and will change the world. It is a privilege to be in an audience chair. I value and cherish my favorite spot.
I do not know how the stars aligned to take me from a 7th grader belting along with the Secret Garden to a member of the American Theatre Critics Association packing her bag, preparing to present at a convention for Broadway lovers. I suspect, however, that it may have something to do with the understanding of the love and worth of my favorite spot, the Audience Chair.
From the moment I walk into a theatrical venue, I am transformed into a different world. Be it a small community theatre, or a great performance hall, this is the world where art is created and joy happens. In the great performance halls, I think of those who have dedicated their lives to performing, writing, playing, directing, building, sewing, and making, all to try and tell a story to those who have come, from the great leaders of the world to the poor students who have saved every penny or entered a lottery every day for a year. I think of the decades of performances, the rush and thrill of the audiences that got to witness the first performances of South Pacific, West Side Story, Into the Woods, or Les Miserables.
If I am in a high school, I think of the students who have found a home and friends where they thought they had none. I think of the sweet high school boys who recently started cheering my 11 year old daughter as a closing night brought her to tears when she had to end her little walk on part at a local high school, and the confidence they gave her that she is growing into a talented, worthwhile person.
If I am at a community theatre I think of the countless hours that are put in without pay, without recognition, without fame or fortune, just put in because of love of live performance. I think of how even though it is not Broadway quality, it is improving the qualty of life for any town that chooses to allow the arts to be part of how they define their community.
I hold the program in my hand, and whether it be professionally done or made quickly on a home printer, I look at the names and I see that there are people here who want to take their evening, their energies, their focus, and tell me a story as I sit in my favorite spot. These people may be strangers, they may be friends, but throughout my evening in my chair, they will likely make me laugh or cry or think in a different way. I may see something I have never seen before. I may learn about a culture or a place I have never known before. I may see the surge of a happy story or the terror of a tragedy unfold. But I will have open eyes, I will be touched, and I will leave different than when I came.
I have found this to be true when watching little children tell a shortened story of The Jungle Book, all the way to the Broadway greats in the original cast of Hamilton. There is something special about being in that chair. I have watched bona fide superstars lose character and laugh til they cry, and I have watched young hopeful actors hit a nerve that leaves their parents, friends, and all around in a puddle of tears. I have watch novice writers vulnerably present their first works, and I have seen performances that can and will change the world. It is a privilege to be in an audience chair. I value and cherish my favorite spot.
I do not know how the stars aligned to take me from a 7th grader belting along with the Secret Garden to a member of the American Theatre Critics Association packing her bag, preparing to present at a convention for Broadway lovers. I suspect, however, that it may have something to do with the understanding of the love and worth of my favorite spot, the Audience Chair.
Comments
Post a Comment