The other day I turned my back and the baby dumped a box of Cheerios on the floor. I snapped a picture and sent it to my friend. “Cheerios are my version of Nutcracker snow, ” I wrote.
For those who don’t work backstage, let me explain. At the end of the first act of the perennial Christmas favorite The Nutcracker, there is a huge snow scene. Vast amounts of snow is dropped from above the stage, blanketing the stage, drifting into the wings, coating the dancers. So much snow also means intermission clean up. I am forever finding little white bits of Nutcracker snow somewhere backstage, even deep into spring. But it is huge part of the show. So every performance snow gets showered on the floor. And every intermission the crew sweeps it up so they can set for the next act.
(I guess the opera version of Nutcracker snow would be Madama Butterfly flower petals. And there was a recent production of Eugene Onegin that featured a leaf drop with similar pervasiveness.)
And so it is with that box of Cheerios. It starts on the table. The baby dumps it on the floor. I clean it up. It gets dumped on the floor again. The cycle begins again. And for the rest of the day, I will be finding Cheerios in all obscure corners of the dining room.
Putting up a show is often an exercise in creating and then dismantling then restoring in order to create again. A scene moves forward, props get used then discarded. Costume pieces get worn then removed. Scenery shifts. Then you get to the end of the show and then everything gets returned to it’s starting place so you can do it all over again. And the same things happen again. The same props move, the same costume pieces are put on and off, the same scenery changes position. Then the crew scrambles to put it all back together again.
We call it “Re-setting for the Top”, this act of putting everything back to where we started so that we can do it all over again.
But in reality, it’s not always the same. Particularly in rehearsal. Things change, singers find new nuances in their portrayal. Directors change traffic patterns to clarify the story they are trying to tell. Dancers, adjust a position or a movement. Even stage managers, who are supposed to be the soul of consistency, even we find subtle ways to make things better or more efficient – perhaps that prop should be preset facing the other way for ease of pick up. Or maybe this entrance order needs to be adjusted to get those who sing first onstage at the front of the line. Or maybe I need to move that post-it in my book so that I see it sooner and throw the cue on time. There are always big tweaks and little tweaks that can be made.
The second act of La Boheme, despite being one of the busiest scenes in all of opera-dome is actually quite short – usually kissing twenty minutes. In a three hour rehearsal, even with thirty minutes of chorus breaks, you can run Act Two at least five times, maybe six or seven if you’re fast at re-setting. That’s a lot of re-setting. But at the same time, it’s a lot of chances to figure out how to make things better.
There is a saying that life isn’t a dress rehearsal, the implication being that the curtain is up and we are living our one shot in front of an audience. But I think, the people who say this don’t truly understand rehearsal. Or life. I think, perhaps life is indeed like a rehearsal. Despite this being our one precious life, I don’t think that we are here to get it right on the first take; it’s a process. It’s a process of learning and trying and failing and clarifying and then trying again. Perhaps we need to be more forgiving of ourselves and of others and realize that everyone should get an opportunity to reset for the top, another chance to try things again until one arrives where one wants to be.
This includes that baby and the box of Cheerios. I’ll keep resetting that box, and perhaps one day, instead of dumping the Cheerios on the floor, she will finally figure out how to pour it into her bowl and get herself breakfast.