At one time, when I'd fallen in love with circus but decided (incorrectly) that it wasn't something I could ever do, I set my sights instead on working backstage in some capacity. The logic was that if I couldn't be onstage, backstage was just as good.
Hoo boy was I wrong about that. I mean, I'm sure there are things that are better for body and soul than getting up in front of people, doing something you love, and basking in their adoration--but those other things are probably illegal. Performance is intoxicating. Circus is intoxicating--I kind of knew that, already, what with the waiting hungrily for ten years to go to circus school, but still: whoa. I love watching other people put on their makeup in the green room (more proficiently than me); I love Nancy the stage manager (who, like all the crew, rocks) walking through to tell us we have fifteen minutes, five minutes, two minutes; I love the opening procession, where no one but the Youth Circus and the clowns seem to know where they're going; I love the look of blank jumpiness on performers' faces when they're about to go onstage, and the sweaty elation when they come off; I love hearing muted applause from the green room; I love the happy traffic jam in the lobby after the show. You guys, I am totally hooked.
Most of all I love the three minutes of my act. Not surprisingly, they are the fastest minutes of the day. (Also not surprising: the twenty minutes between the start of the show and my act are the longest minutes of the day.) As soon as they're over, I am both intensely relieved and also I want to be back on the other side of those three minutes. Last night and tonight both went fabulously for me: all my skills came off like they're supposed to--and even if they didn't, nobody knew the difference.
I had been a bit worried about getting onstage, since there's a lot of striking (putting away) of mats and ropes from the previous act, and my trapeze has to be brought out and hung up. The crew are impressively fast, but there was nothing to cover it up, and my walk onstage was conducted in awkward silence. (The previously-mentioned tango act was moved earlier in the show, so I didn't get to hitch a ride on their coattails.)
Thank goodness for clowns. The Pi Clowns noticed my predicament and kindly offered to provide a little distraction and a clever way to get me onstage. Now I hide behind them as they cross the stage in a clump; they drop me off at my trapeze and continue on their way. It's super cute. Also, I'm pretty sure that mere association with the Pi Clowns will make you a better performer.
The new ending has also sorted itself out: people clap as soon as I hit the mat. I don't think I'm faking anyone out with the fall, as Stefan perhaps intended, but at least I haven't heard giggles. Last night I did miscalculate the edge of the mat when I was getting up, and nearly rolled off, but they didn't even laugh at me then. Bless them.
(If you are reading this and you were in Thursday or Friday's audience, bless you in particular. If you are reading this and you are planning to come to one of the shows, know that these guys have set the bar high.)
The most pleasant surprise of this experience has been the discovery that people clap for everything. Everything. Before Thursday, I only ever performed this incarnation of the act before other performers who have seen (and often, done) everything that I do before. But now the audiences are, if anything, biased in our favor; most of them have friends or family in the show. I'm certainly not complaining--it blows my mind. I had no idea people would applaud things like my ankle hang. Friggin amazing. It even keeps me from rushing, since I want to linger and soak it in.
So now, all that's left is the weekend. Between my three shows, I will have had nine minutes of pure, unadulterated solo trapeze time. That means I am owed six more minutes of fame... but I think I am going to need more than that.
Over the past few days I have been inducted into the wide world of rehearsals. I've had a rehearsal which I flat-out missed because they were running ahead of schedule, and a rehearsal that started late (for which, of course, I arrived about half an hour early), and a rehearsal that was perfectly on time but required only five minutes of my participation.
Considering that Helene has more than 70 people to organize for this show, it has gone amazingly smoothly. Or if it hasn't, I haven't been able to tell the difference.
And today is the dress rehearsal. In classic nervous-performer fashion, I have gotten my costume and makeup and juice boxes and book (critically, because it is scheduled to last five hours) all ready... and I don't have to leave for another hour.
My tech rehearsals were largely for miscellaneous things: this tango act, for example, which was at one time before my own act and has since been moved; and the finale. (It was the tango rehearsal that I missed, which might be okay...because I still don't know the steps.) But I also had my own tech rehearsal earlier in the week. This was where the crew and I figured out things like where my mats would be placed, and exactly how high I wanted the bar hung. (I am also learning all kinds of fascinating stage jargon: "spiking" the rope means putting a bit of fluorescent tape in the spot where it should be hung for my act. Different from spiking the punch.)
We also made a small change to the end of my act: I still hit the floor (gracefully), but then I roll off sharply instead of pressing up slowly. This is in an effort to keep things crisp and dramatic and energetic. I had a small audience of about a dozen for my tech rehearsal, and I only heard one person laugh when I dropped to the mats at the end of the act. One out of twelve is pretty good. I'm interested to see how it goes this afternoon, when there are likely to be more people watching.
Only for "interested," read, "slightly terrified."
Because, yes, this is all slightly terrifying, but when I was in my rehearsal, and the lights were on (kind of) and the music was playing and I was in costume, I was hanging from my ankles in the fastest part of the spin and thinking, "wow, I'm really doing this. I've been wanting to do this for most of my life, and now it's finally, actually happening."
So the one thing I'm not worried about is remembering to smile.
And now, some obligatory self-promotion:
(And if you happen to be in Austin and not San Francisco this weekend--which is your only possible excuse for not coming to the Showcase--my good friend Jason also has a show with the fine folks of Blue Lapis Light.)
T-minus one week to Showcase. There are now bleachers and lights in the gym, and there is an atmosphere of intensely constrained jumpiness. It's getting real.
Yesterday I got to show my act to both directors for the Showcase, one being the incredible Helene, who had already thumb's-upped my act, the other being the impressive Stefan Haves, who can only be with us at Circus Center for a week because he's needed in Montreal, to work on Cirque du Soleil's next project. Well.
So that wasn't intimidating at all.
No, it went fine: Stefan said that I have a nice act, and since I figure his standards for "nice" must be pretty nice, themselves, that may be one of the finest compliments yet paid to my performance skills. I also got some fascinating insight into the Cirque-du-Soleil-style creative process. Sometimes Stefan starts sentences with, "This might just be my sick sense of humor, but..." and after that "but," he says something that I would never have considered in a thousand years.
In this case, the "but" provided a new ending for my act. Previously, the plan was for me to stop spinning, walk forward, and bow. Yawn.
New plan: fall down.
Before people (read: mom) get all freaked out, my trapeze is hung five feet, three inches off the ground--no, not even the ground: five feet, three inches off a panel mat on top of a crash pad. Since I finish the act while hanging from my hands under the bar, I think I drop a total of three feet.
But an impressive three feet they are. Some would say that the first rule of trapeze is "don't fall off." Yes, but rules are meant to be broken. Hitting the mat is a dramatic way to finish the act. An exclamation point instead of a regular old period, if you will.
I admit that I wasn't feeling dreadfully excited about this when I went home last night: the idea is "dramatic," not "funny," and though I've gotten clear instructions on how not to make it look like I fell off the trapeze by accident, one can't help but worry that people will laugh. I also have a gnawing feeling that, so unexpected and dramatic is the ending, people won't remember anything else about the act. Which is all right, I guess--better that they walk away going "wow" than not--but it took me five minutes to learn how to fall correctly, and six months to put together the other three minutes of the act. I don't want to sound picky, but I'd prefer if people are enthusiastic about, you know, the trapeze part.
But after talking to some innocent bystanders, who saw the new ending as it was formed, I feel better. If all else fails, I remind myself of my directors' credentials and feel a bit better.
Also, I have a hella flashy costume, and it's pretty hard to feel doubtful or anxious about anything at all while I'm wearing it:
It makes me feel like a big red lightbulb, and I mean that in the best possible way. You can see how bright and shiny it is in the crappy half-light of my room (which, yes, is a mess...and, no, I obviously don't know how to take a picture without screwing up the light: moving on...). Just imagine what it'll be like under stage lights; moths will be drawn to me.
The first couple of times I wore it at Circus Center, several people in the gym felt compelled to stop what they were doing and tell me how retina-searing it was. I felt self-conscious for about 0.3 seconds, but if the purpose of a costume is to draw extra attention to the performer, my costume is doing a hell of a job.
And really, let's get serious about this: I get to wear glitter pants (if you use a loose interpretation of "pants") on stage!
Someone pinch me.
Now that it's June, I find that telling myself, "I'll figure that out in June" is no longer as comforting as once it was. June looked pleasantly remote even from last week--certainly mid-June and the Showcase seemed months away...
Now I find that today I'm meeting with Helene, co-director #1 so that she can cast her professional eye over my act. And on Saturday I'm meeting with Stefan Haves, co-director #2 and the former assistant director to Kooza (yes, that Kooza), so he can cast his professional eye over it, and hopefully slap some transitions on either end. There are two shows in the coming weekends. Then it's showtime.
Between now and then I have to get the third and final iteration of my costume in the mail, which will fit properly or else I will be forced to perform naked. I should probably re-tape Trappy (it looks super dirty, I think because the leather is still getting broken in and it's...I don't know...shedding black stickiness onto the bar. Or something.) I have to wrangle some practice time during tech week. I have to volunteer myself for the Pratfalls show, as well as the Showcase shows that I'm not in. On that note, I have to find out from Helene if I'm really in the shows that I think I'm in. I have to learn very small parts for two additional acts--they need a lot of warm bodies on the stage at once, and I volunteered to be among them. One of them is a waltz, so evidently I will be learning how to waltz sometime in the next few weeks.
Looking at my calendar (which I have been doing nonstop since I realized it was June), I notice that there are not many days where I have written "practice" in and amidst these other things. My act as it is right this second is pretty much what's going onstage.
This is fine: I make most of my cues, most of the time, and get pretty much all of my skills all of the time.* Although I feel like it's not ready, it's ready. Honestly, I could have shown it back in April and no one would have thrown fruit at me.
Knowing me, I could nitpick this act forever, and never feel like it was "ready." And I'll even get to do that...after the Showcase. I'll be sorry it's over, then, because one of the many things that I was putting off until June was figuring out what comes next. Eh...yeah...
I'll figure that out at the end of June.
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*Except for that one time on Sunday when I didn't flex my feet enough while sliding from back balance to ankles, and ended up in a slightly perilous handstand with my feet on the bar. Hoo, was that exciting.
