A few more theatre memories . . .

Here's a few more great theatre memories from friends:

ADAM LEHMAN

As an unknown comic I'll take a performance opportunity when I can get it. A month ago I was mistakenly booked on a "Chanakah in July" showcase at Don't Tell Mama, finding out the title of the show when I arrived to perform. It isn't the first time I pretended to be Jewish to get something... I mean those eight days off around the holidays were much better than the two days off I would have gotten for Christmas. People have a hard time believing I'm not in fact Jewish, citing the Jewish overtones in my last name and the predominance of my nose, so everything was fine.

This past weekend I performed on a show at the Duplex where a few of our audience members were deaf. I had no idea what to expect. My initial doubts consisted of wondering how this could possibly work. Like I said, though, I'm hungry for stage time... so any chance to perform, whether as a non-Jew Jew or in front of the aurally handicapped, is greatly appreciated.

As the details unravelled, I found out there would be an interpreter on the stage diagonally behind me, translating each joke into American Sign Language. Knowing a few choice phrases of sign language myself, I decided to bridge the gap.

"I know a few things in sign language," I said, "and if you don't mind, I'd like to share them with you." "I like popcorn," I said, making the gesture for popcorn with the interpreter behind me doing the same. "I also enjoy hamburgers." Once again, the interpreter and I were in perfect harmony. "And this is really embarassing," I said, "but if you really don't mind, I'd like to sing for you."

At that moment I sang the end of the alphabet song with both my voice and my hands, shocking the interpreter to a certain degree. I picked it up back in middle school when we had an introductory course to ASL."Now... I... know... my... A... B... C's..."

Halfway through the song the interpreter stopped interpreting me, so I looked over and said "you're ruining the joke!""Next... time... won't... you... sing... with... me." I turned to the audience and said... "I'm sorry guys, that song was supposed to be in stereo."

This show totally has changed me to a degree. I went into the room with doubt and a sense of "what the hell am I getting myself into?" Most of all, I had fun and felt like I was among a group of friends. Comedy definitely keeps me humble. One set you can have every joke resonate and leave people in stitches, but later the same night with a different audience you struggle to even make a connection. Each moment I even think I'm making progress is mirrored with another moment where I realize I have lots to learn. I feel there's a certain beauty to be found in that dichotomy. No matter how many steps you have taken to get to this moment, there will always be more steps to take.

REBECCA

I was in the cast of The Laramie Project at Civic, directed by Marilyn Langbehn. The script itself is incredibly powerful and there were so many moments during the process that will forever be close to my heart but opening night was particulary memorable. We had spent so much time just trying to "Say it correct" as the script reads. From interviewing a man who knew one of the assailants to receiving an email from Rebecca Hillaker (whom I played) to studying the reports from the actual event, it was a life altering look at the human condition.

We became a very close cast using each other for support to relive this horrific event in human history and we tapped into some pretty strong emotions, so it was really difficult to go onstage opening night. Having felt the gambit of emotions and then rawly exposing them to house of freinds and strangers was probably the most vulnerable I've ever felt. I even screwed up one of my first lines! We all spent time sitting in the audience throughout the show and got to feel a part of them at moments, but I don't think any of us were fully prepared for the end of the show.

As the lights came up for the curtain call, we collected in the center of the little black box and there were tears streaming down most of our faces. It took a moment for the audience to applaud because they were so overcome (we finally realized!), but when they did applaud it was thunderous for that little room. We went backstage and just held each other for good, long moment. The gratification of knowing that they got it, that maybe we did, "say it correct" was overwhelming. I remember thinking that if I never did another show again, that was okay. This was what it was about for me. It was incredible. I hope one day to be able to have a show touch me like that again. I only pray it also touches the audience, too!