William Lanfear’s wigs and makeup were spectacular; Peggy Frantz’s costumes were excellent; Ryan Decker’s end-of-show baritone solo as Lurch was exactly what I’d hoped for (gorgeous and funny); Randy Fields had a nice bit of choreography in the climatic tango number.
Sarah Crill is gently magnetic as Musoka, a terminally ill woman who may or may not be a woodland creature. My eyes stayed on her the entire show – a study in graceful movement.
Both sides of my brain were singing, another part was trying to think of the next move, but the LOUDEST part of my brain screamed, “YOU FOOL, YOU’RE 45 YEARS OLD, YOU’RE GOING TO TEAR A LIGAMENT IN YOUR KNEE!”
In three weeks, we’ll be presenting Stephen Sondheim’s Putting It Together at The Earlville Opera House. The dreams have started – where I’m onstage without a clue what to sing, the lights aren’t ready, and I’m in pajamas. (I hate pajamas, so that’s worse than being naked onstage.) Right on schedule.
Moss Island and The Earlville Opera House present Putting It Together –
Words and Music by Stephen Sondheim. July 24-26, 2015 at the historic Earlville Opera House.
Players of Utica’s final production of the season is a pretty big swing… featuring solid, very funny ensemble acting, clever use of space and wittily minimalist set, sound and lighting.
Super Trouper is the greatest song ever written about a stage light. The lyrics bring a shiver of pleasure to even the most jaded stagehand…
I know and like many people who are union stagehands, and certainly I risk offending them by expressing some of these observations and opinions. But this is the bottom line: for as friendly and cooperative as many stagehands are, at the end of the day it’s difficult to look at the service provided and square it with the bill.
Some of the best moments in my theater career have happened at high school productions. In fact, a disproportionate number of those were courtesy of teenagers. I love the “aha” surprises, when a performer finds a spark and burns up the stage, bringing the audience to its feet. Now, imagine a show composed of nothing but those moments, and you’ll have an idea of what I worked on Saturday night…
I read the contract. Among other things, it says the theater will own all of my work product once the show is done. Lighting plot, cue sheet, notes, whatever. And if they decide to change the date or the location, I’m still on the hook. And I need to let them know my location at all times prior to the show. And come to meetings whenever and wherever they are called. And if they cancel the show for any reason, I’m out of luck. And contractually, I can’t tell anyone about any of it. Seriously.