I think tonight may have been a weird kind of turning point night, despite the fact that it also may not have been and I’m just assigning more import to it than I should. But tonight was a night where I did a show in a space that’s not meant for it, missing half of the cast and without an audience to speak of…and still came out on top. Here’s the story:
We’re in the midst of our Level 5 Conservatory shows at Second City. For those that don’t know, we do an 8 week run of a sketch show as the final piece of our study at Second City. Last week was the first week of the run, and we were told not to get our hopes up because first weeks have about a 70% cancellation rate. Now why would they cancel a class show for a class that we’re paying for? Because they haven’t sold 25 tickets for the night. Kind of a ridiculous system, in my opinion, but I don’t make the rules (I’ll just change them when I open a theatre of my own someday).
But last week we were fine, had a good show with maybe 30-35 people in the crowd. Not huge, but we’re just testing material right now, so who cares. Tonight, though, we got canceled. This wouldn’t have been such a bad thing had my girlfriend Amanda’s parents not been in town to see the show (she’s also in my class, just to clarify). They weren’t here JUST for this show, but still…they were excited to see it, she was excited to show them, we all wanted to do a show, stuff like that. So when pulled the plug on us at about a quarter till the first group was supposed to go up, it was a pretty severe disappointment.
Except that wasn’t the end of it. There were maybe 6 or 7 of us milling about, having just heard the news, and it dawned on us that just because we were canceled didn’t mean we couldn’t still do a show. Except, of course, all of the rooms in the Training Center were booked with classes or rehearsals, and attempts to gain access to the empty theatre for a private showcase were not met with much approval. So we found a reception area, with a stairwell. We sat down Amanda’s parents (and her aunt, who was also in town) on the stairs. We quickly ran over the running order, cutting the few pieces we couldn’t do with our smaller numbers and swapping in people to play parts as needed. And then we did a fucking show.
Was it our tightest show? Who gives a shit. Our blackouts were coming in the form of yelling “blackout,” our sound cues were coming out of my tiny iPhone speakers. We played the cards we were dealt. And yet I still came out of that mini-not-a-real-show feeling better than I have about a lot of recent performances because it just felt fun. It was as much just for us as it was for them, and it reminded me of why I’m doing anything creative to begin with…to do what I like to do and hope that others find something fun in it.
I think we all reach a certain point in our development as creators where it kind of stops being fun…you hit a plateau for awhile, where you’ve been drowning in classes and mediocre performances and being in your head and fighting to find an audience for so long that it’s all you can focus on, and you lose sight of enjoying the thing that you set out to do to begin with.
I want the opportunity to do more shows like tonight. I want to be able to do a show without the pressure of needing it to change the world. I want to be able to do a show where I’m not on the line to pay back the theatre for an hour of space, or where I need more than three people to see my work to feel validated about it. I want to remove the limitations of accessibility that I’ve put onto my stuff and just do what feels right, and if other people don’t dig it, maybe I don’t need them to as much as I did before.
My next show’s about a space station. Genre stuff. Not a ton of commercial appeal, I’d imagine. But I’m going to do it however the hell I want to, in a space that’s not meant for theatre, and I’m going to blow the roof off of it. I encourage you to do the same, because as backwards as it sounds, I think I’m more inclined to come see your show if I know you don’t need me there to make it the best thing you’ve ever done. And while I don’t need you to, I do hope you stop by.
We’ll find a comfortable stairwell for you.


