The end of a show is always bittersweet. A lot of effort, a lot of time, a ton of emotion goes into any play--the writing, producing, directing, collaborating, and performing takes months. There are the practical details--is the show too long or too short, can this actor or actress play a certain part, can you stage the play in the available space, how much is too much to charge for tickets, where are we going to get those tuxedos, when is your cast going to turn in their bios for the program, when are they going to finally memorize those lines . . . it goes on and on.
There are the creative details--have I developed the characters sufficiently, are they varied enough; can they be angry, or off-center, or silly, or unintelligent and still come off as approachable during the improvisational parts of the show.My plays are comedies and I have a good ear for dialogue, but after you've rehearsed a show for a month or more, after you've heard those lines done a million times with no audience to react, the doubts creep in. Who am I fooling? Will that line really get a laugh?
Having done this sort of thing for 25 years, having worked with many of my actors for almost that long, picking a cast is often the easiest part--and the hardest. I write parts with specific people in mind, I play to their strengths, I try my best to take care of them. Winging It was a recycled play, written a dozen years ago for a corporate event; modifying it to include my regulars was a challenge. I found spots for 4 regulars, 2 actors I'd worked with once before, and 2 new ones who answered a casting call. In the end, they came together beautifully. The chemistry I hoped would develop between the bride and groom--and there are no guarantees when it comes to chemistry--showed up beautifully about two weeks before opening night.
You hang your hopes on your cast; your work is in their hands. A play is a symbiotic relationship between the cast, the playwright, the director and the audience, but in the end, it's the cast that goes out there night after night and needs to bring it home. I always encourage them to adjust their lines for comfort, to give me their feedback. They bring fresh insight to something I've labored over for months and I always end up with some great new lines or a wonderful twist on one of my own creations. I always feel I give my cast some great material to work with; they pay me back every time!
Defined, the noun "cast" is a group of performers, brought together to put on a show. Of course, as with many words in the English language, other meanings exist, and there is one other meaning that applies nicely to those hard working, funny, talented entertainers who took part in Winging It. "Cast" as a verb, also means to radiate. And they did . . .
So, the hard part is over and we go on with our ordinary, non-performing, not-so-creative lives that exist when we are not in play mode. Katz (who played Enrique Schlimovitz--the worst wedding planner ever) and I are glad to have our lives back, but then, there is the bittersweet part: I miss Isabel and Philip de Vigny,the Reverend Joshia, Aunt Tootie, and the Kozinsky family--Bea, Max, Celia and Fitzwallace, and, of course, the actors who played them. Still, I'm catching my breath, regathering my creative juices, and looking forward to "casting" my net over them again in years to come.
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