“The reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag for a week.”
Sherlock Holmes, The Sign of the Four
If the first three months of rehearsals of The Game’s Afoot was a marathon, and the final week before opening night was a sprint, what do you call the actual run of five performances from April 12 to 15?
The victory lap. That’s when the more than 140 hours of rehearsal time are over, the countless hours of memorizing lines and building sets and sewing costumes and sourcing or creating props are finished, and we’re finally ready to show the world what we’ve all been up to at the HUB since the beginning of January.
To say that audience response was overwhelmingly positive would be like saying that water tends to be somewhat wet: a massive understatement. Three of the five performances were sold out, and extra chairs had to be found to accommodate people. Folks came from all over. My parents and aunt came from Penticton; my brother and niece came up from Vancouver. Children came with their parents and grandparents. Some people who came and saw it early in the run came back and saw it again.
Watching from my vantage point in the light and sound booth at the back of the auditorium, I was able not only to see the play but observe the audience and anticipate their reactions as the mayhem on stage played out. The revolving bar always got a huge laugh, as did the scenes where actors Richard Wright and Jan Schmitz tried, increasingly frantically, to dispose of the body of a scheming journalist played by Nancy Duchaine, who gamely allowed herself to be manhandled around the stage night after night. If laughter is the best medicine, then a lot of people got a heaping helping of it last week.
There were audible gasps from the audience at different points, spontaneous applause, reactions as various pieces of the plot fell into place. They weren’t the only things to fall: a piece of moulding fell during one performance (during a blackout, thank goodness) and was quickly removed. More critically, the prop knife supposedly stuck in Nancy’s back fell out at a crucial moment, leading to much consternation during the intermission. What would we do? The character was supposed to start Act 2 with a knife sticking out of her back, a knife that had clearly fallen out in Act 1.
The answer was to simply go on as planned. That’s what live theatre is all about: expect and embrace the unexpected. One young audience member didn’t seem to mind: her verdict was that she was glad Nancy’s character got killed, since “she was the meanest person on the stage.”
The day after the final performance I’m at the HUB to collect my dining room chairs, and an air of sadness hangs over everything. The rehearsal room has almost been emptied; the set has been stripped and will soon be taken down. All that build-up, all that work, and now it’s over.
Never mind. We’ve already started thinking about what comes next, and when that might be. I, for one, can’t wait. Thank you to everyone in the cast and crew, and to all the people who came out to support us. See you next time!
editorial@accjournal.ca
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