Yesterday we closed our production of Clue. I am exhausted, sore, and my throat is screaming… and yet I still find myself wishing I was in the dressing room as I type this.
Even if your body is relieved about the break, your heart yearns for the preshow adrenaline rush, the backstage laughs and hugs, and that tingly feeling you get when you hear the cue line for your first entrance.
When you take your last bow, and as you head to the lobby to greet the audience for the last time, you see your castmates around you and realize that you’re about to go from seeing them for hours everyday to waiting around until you get to perform with them again. Even if you still get to see all your castmates everyday, say if you’re a part of a high school theatre group, it isn’t the same. Not to mention, saying goodbye to castmates that have become like family isn’t the only thing hard to say goodbye to.
Saying goodbye to a show, a character you’ve become is hard too. For the duration of the show, you learn to give up yourself in order to transform into another person. When a show ends, it’s like a shock to the system when you’re back to being just, you. For most shows, you’ll never be in that show, playing that same role again. And even if you do get to replay a role, it won’t be at the same point in your life, with the same people, on the same stage– the whole dynamic will be different. This doesn’t mean that it won’t be as good, it just won’t be the same.
After a show closes, your heart will hurt, your body will thank you, and soon you’ll start the process over again.
So tonight, this is Mrs. Peacock signing off.
Break a leg,
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