Groundlings Are Good For You

This post comes from our bass-playing, play-writing, swing-dancing, Deepish, Michaela Morton. She is pictured here on the right.

In just under a month on the road with Open Dream, I've found that each auditorium, gym, and cafeteria has its own character -- especially when filled with 80-350 elementary school characters! We've performed for kids who live and breathe the arts, who walk in hallways hung with crafts and anticipate our answers to questions about theater history and music terminology. We've also performed for kids who may call Big Shoes "a great movie," and who'll definitely admit that this show is the first "play" they've ever seen. Lately, I've been relishing the responses of kids who know assembly-room etiquette, but haven't been taught a rigid code of theater do's and don't's. They cheer -- loudly -- for the stuff they dig. They laugh uproariously at strange moments. They clap along. They stand to see. They take off their shoes and wave them around during curtain call. They shout encouragements to the actors: "You're doing great!". Sometimes they even pee on the floor, but I don't think that's a referendum on our show. They are a rowdy bunch of groundlings. Shakespeare would've loved them, and I do, too. I'm especially pleased because of what all this means: these kids think Big Shoes is for them. So all in all, we know they've got the right idea.

Heading Up This Mountain

This post is from the magical Michaela Morton! Pictured here, seated on the far left, with the 2012 cast of Open Dream Ensemble.



Two years ago, in an airport in Texas, I started writing Big Shoes. I finished the play six months later, in France. And last week, I began it all over again, in the Stevens Center basement in Winston-Salem, NC.

I’ve had the kooky luck not only to write a children’s show and see it produced, but also to be a part of the ensemble of performers and teaching artists that make it come alive. This is my first gig out of college, and I pinch myself to test that it’s true. It was surreal auditioning for the Open Dream Ensemble using a monologue that I had written, and even surreal-er walking into the first day of rehearsal to hear and see the story of Gordy and his brother’s big shoes come to life before my eyes.

Of course, that life comes into theater in fits and starts – it’s not a full play until it’s played, until it’s scored and strummed and danced around, until it’s set on its set and seen. As we do the play, I’ve made countless minor edits to the script, often at the risk of sounding like a crazy person (“Cameron, could you just cut the ellipsis? And change that comma to a dash?”). Balancing the roles of actor and writer can be tricky, especially on a show about which I have many preconceptions. Listening helps.

What I’m learning when I keep my mouth shut is that our story is propelled by moments and melodies that my script did not contain. Thanks to my co-conspirators, Big Shoes now knocks out operatic high notes, boasts back-up singers, manipulates a brace of puppets, and marks time with tap-shoes.

I’m also learning that I can be wrong about what I wrote. Sometimes I don’t understand my own words as well as my director does. Sometimes what I thought I put down isn’t on the page at all. Sometimes I’ve created confusion, and I’m lucky that I get to clear it up in person (or watch as other actors settle the mess). Forget “teaching artist” – I’m learning first.

And that’s a real thrill. Like every ensemble member, I’ve picked up a range of new skills. I’ve lifted a truss, loaded in a tree, been fitted for a leotard. I’ve sung a wickedly tricky three part harmony, learned four dance numbers, and plucked a solid line on the upright bass. In fact, this weekend I’m taking said bass home, courtesy of our Jack-of-all-Strings, William. He’s made it possible for a couple of newbies to strum those strings like we had two weeks to learn, instead of just two hours.

As a team, our story is coming together. We’re heading up this mountain at a fast clip, and thank goodness, we’re not going it alone!