00055: THE SINGS OF BURNED OUT ARE SHOWING!

I have been directing for many years, more than I care to admit. In my long years as a theatre director, I have learned many things, mainly that I don’t know everything. Throughout my directing tenure I have made mistakes from which I have learned some important lessons. Regardless of the benefits, the majority of those mistakes have been forgotten; they’re gone with the wind. Others, however, still lurk in the back of my mind just to remind me that, although I may be a theatre director, I am not that good of a theatre director. In short, the many mistakes I have made in my directing career keep me in check.

One of the biggest mistakes I made long ago, was allowing the artistic director of a certain company to influence my casting decision. I had the perfect actor for a specific role. And being that such role was very important within the show, I knew this particular actor was the perfect match for the role. This actor had the commanding voice the character required. They also had the singing chops the role demanded. (I was directing a musical.) They had the acting chops, the attitude, and a very clear understanding of the character. Yet, when it came to casting the show, I allowed the artistic director to dictate who the actor for that specific role should be. I knew it was the wrong choice, so I fought back, but after some going back and forth, I gave in and cast the person they wanted.

Through the rehearsal process, I quickly realized what an incredible mistake I had made by casting such an actor. I went back to the artistic director and voiced my worried about the casting choice. I was told I was exaggerating and that the actor was fine; “They just needed practice.” A few days later, I unintentionally learned that the actor I had cast had provided a hefty donation and had also promised free advertising for the theater’s season. You cannot imagine the anger and the disappointment I felt toward myself at that moment, as well as the guilt I felt for the rest of the cast. 

Through the rehearsal process I tried my best to ignore anger, doubts, and struggles; I honestly made an effort to work around the actor’s inefficiencies. Behind the scenes, the cast worried about the actor’s inability to perform its best and, behind closed doors, they continually questioned the reason(s) why I had cast such an actor. The night the show opened, the actor froze in the middle of his most important song. The orchestra kept on playing, revamping over and over, and over, but nothing. The actor just stood on stage, looking out the audience, terrified. Other actors tried to help him by “humming” the lyrics and some even started singing some of the lines. But no one knew what to do because no one ever expected the actor to completely freeze on stage the way they did. And as I witness such event from the audience, my heart sunk along with my body. By the time the actor came back from whatever stage fright trip they had taken, the damage had been done.

After the show, the company hold a reception for patrons, theater donors, special guests, the cast, and crew. The infamous actor didn’t show. And I wish I could have done the same but, as a director, I was expected to mingle with the crowd. I tell you, I never felt so uneasy in my life, and if I’m a master at faking smiles and “good times,” this was the biggest test and I passed with flying colors. The next day, when the theatre review appeared in the main city’s paper (yes, those existed back then), all my greatest fears were confirmed. All the actors were praised for their work and efforts, except one, of course. But the majority of the review concentrated on the directing, stating that I, as a director, did not had a clear understanding of the material because of some of my casting choices. The theatre reviewer went on to say that I perhaps I was not the right person to direct that particular musical or any musical for that matter. That comment hurt me the most for just a few months before, a very successful run of a much bigger musical had ended, and I had been praised for my directing vision and my unique approach to the material. It hadn’t been in that particular city with that particular company, but still.  

I tell this story for two reasons: the first one is obvious, such experienced scared me for life and even now, after so many years, it still hunts me. The second, which is something I had never spoken about, is the fact that my biggest theatre mentor, my first acting and directing teacher, my guide, told me how disappointed they were because of show’s results. I tried to explain myself and I even said, “Look, you know I got this gig because of my work on Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Raincoat, which I directed and choreographed, by the way.” It wan’t my fault. I was forced to cast that actor. My mentor got very upset and even told me to stop making up excuses and accept my errors or I would never become a better person or director.

Our talk turned into an argument and I remember seeing my theater idol angrily walking away and leaving me standing in the middle of the room. After that exchange, I felt very disappointed in myself and also very hurt. I thought that if there was at least one person that could actually understand what had happened with that particular production, that person would be my mentor. Unfortunately I had created faulty expectations. As a result, I built a lot of resentment toward my mentor. In fact, after that encountered, we would never speak to each other again and I would never seek their mentorship. My mentor had been a pillar and theatre pioneer for the city and community, so when he passed, I only attended the funeral services, out of respect for said theater community. I was physically present but like Morales from A Chorus Line, I felt nothing. 

Today, I’m directing a play that could have been done with 12 actors. Instead, because I wanted to give opportunities to everyone and also “contribute to the building of our theatre program,” I double the casting number. We have only been in rehearsal for a month and I’m already regretting my casting choice. Too many absences, too many unprepared actors, too many… well, no matter the reason(s), It’s not their fault. I made the decision to cast them and I’m responsible to make sure they all understand the importance of punctuality and the responsibility of being part of a theatre production. 

I know that at the end, everything is going to turn out fine. The actors will know their lines and they will have their moment under the spotlight. The show will open and close and there will be something to celebrate by the end of the semester. Yet, the incidents happening right now, with students arriving late or calling in sick, is bothersome, and obviously is bringing up emotions and unresolved issues from the past. The skeletons in my closet are showing. 

There are sudden instances where I think I made the mistake of casting against my gut, and all because “I want to give students opportunities and help our theatre department grow”. Or maybe my mistake is that I’m too soft nowadays and don’t rule with an iron fist as I used to. Or maybe I’m just too old now to deal with the younger generations and their woke approaches to everything. Or maybe I have reached my limit, I’m burned out, tired, old, and directing shows with big cast numbers is no longer something I should be doing. Or maybe the time has come to retire. Yes, that’s it! The time has come to retire. Wouldn’t it be lovely? Unfortunately I’m too poor to stop working and not old enough to call it quits. I just have to take this project one day at a time, breathing every time I get a notice saying that so and so won’t be there because of “this and that,” and breathing once again because an actor doesn’t have a pencil to take down blocking or they decided to go to the greenroom the moment they stepped out of their scene. Whatever the news, I just have to take big breaths and keep on going. 

Breathe, Carlos-Manuel. Breathe.