The First, Lasts, and the In-Betweens
Blame it all on Jennifer Trawick! It all began, because she couldn't handle the pestering, aggravation, and constant flow of ideas coming out of my mile-a-minute, sixteen-year-old trap.
I had an idea—turn the theater into a chocolate factory. Sounded perfectly reasonable to me! But then again, lots of things sound perfectly reasonable to me. Flying Peter Pan on a rope swing; allowing a vicious poodle to star in Bridge to Terabithia; writing a play, auditioning it before the script is finished, finishing the script, and starting rehearsals for Marvello; a hole that rises to meet Alice (instead of her falling to meet it)—all seemed like pretty standard stuff to me. And sometimes it’s best to keep some of my ideas under my hat (Although I hardly ever wear hats!) until the crazy part of the project is complete. But nevertheless…
The CMAC Youth Theater is all Jennifer Trawick’s fault!
I never really expected to actually do a production of Willy Wonka. I was just showing off my set drawing skills… which looking back, were nothing to behold. If she hadn’t suggested really doing it—I wouldn’t have pursued it. I guess it probably seemed to her that I was trying (very, VERY un-subtly) to get the show done, but I think that gives me too much credit. I wasn’t business savvy enough for that.
Peter Pan
Unfortunately and oh-so-fortunately, Willy Wonka fell through! I say unfortunately, because all of those wonderful set drawings went to waste, and fortunately, because all of those wonderful set drawings went to waste! Honestly, it was a very good thing that Willy Wonka was not the first Youth Theater Production, because I could’ve NEVER handled it. So it was on to Peter Pan, which turned out to be exactly what I wanted to do—I just didn’t know it before hand. I was fully and wholly set against casting a girl in the role, although I grew up on the VHS of Mary Martin as Peter Pan. (I’m not sure I ever knew as a child that she was a woman.) But in the end, the perfect Peter was a girl, Camille Whittaker, and she was the best choice. Once in Wal-Mart, Camille was picking on me, so I said, “I’m not talking to you anymore, Camille.”
To which she replied, “But you have to Will. I’m your Peter!” I will never forget the look the cashier gave us, or the shade of red Camille turned as she tried to explain. All in all, Peter Pan turned out to be a good show—good in that it was directed by a sixteen year old—good in that a few days before opening there was nothing.
Picture this: The two huge empty rooms of the InterACT building. Twenty lost boys playing with fake swords and screaming. Women buzzing around Camille’s head trying to make her look like a boy. My poor, innocent Darling family in the back room running lines (Thankfully the family portraying three of the five Darlings didn’t take one look around and run!) My mom asking me what I thought of Camille’s hair, which at this time resembled a cross between a bingo champ and a French dog, and another mom asking about costumes. But where are the pirates, you might ask? What pirates? No pirates are cast, because my teenagers are dropping like flies! Someone is taking headshots, someone is shredding clothes for the Lost Boys, and everyone—EVERYONE is asking me a question. And we are six days away from the show. And can’t get into the theater for another two. I almost locked myself in the bathroom and cried. But I didn’t, and somehow the show went on.
Bridge to Terabithia
After Peter Pan, came Bridge to Terabithia. I might’ve fudged exactly how happy the ending was in the meeting, but I was determined to do it. And it remains one of my favorite shows that I have done, because it isn’t like any of the others. For Terabithia, we had to create a theater—and all of those set drawings went in the trash too! Curtains were added—chairs, stages. The windows were blacked out, and Bessie the cow joined us in the window sill. Rehearsals were intense—six weeks of the same five or so core actors who attended almost every rehearsal—and we really became friends. We had pizza party birthdays—pizza party everydays! And we made a show happen again. A second victory. This time, there was a boy to fill the main character’s shoes—Preston Messer. We practiced his dramatic ending monologue at least twice a week until show time—and when there was a gas leak in the building—we moved to Cotton Hall and rehearsed more. I was—and am still—astounded by the amount of emotion that went into those few minutes onstage—the sheer agony of losing a friend. And I cried—every show. And when Preston didn’t have me tearing up, Victoria Henley had me believing in invisible trolls, and Mattie Winburn had me chuckling quietly. Have you ever heard a young mop-top girl say “dammened” on stage? I have—and it was sweet and young and innocent and beautiful. When it came time to shut down Terabithia, I was heartbroken. Little by little, curtains vanished, stages moved, set was dismantled, and Bessie the fake cow wandered off. It was sad—to miss those friends you had seen every day and to miss that building. But one enduring artifact still marks the once living Terabithia—a small sign hanging randomly on the ceiling that reads, “Museum.”
Willy WonkaWonka was revived—not the set designs; I started from scratch—but the idea itself. And it was tough. More than 70 kids auditions, and I could only stuff in 50. Somehow I cast two sisters, but a third didn’t make the cut. It hurt too. I would have put everyone in if I could, but it turned out a challenge to handle those fifty. After 70 auditions, they all became a blur and we began to cut based on a highly suspect ratings system—which we cut later, because they rankings never helped with casting.
There was candy, and there was paint, and purple everything! It was unbelievably scary. I had more help than ever and things were still being left undone. The first Actor Factory camp landing in the middle of rehearsals, which slowed down practices, but gave us time to catch up on the massive sets required. Somewhere along the way 20 plus cans of spray foam were purchased (I might do a whole post on Spray Foam later.) I turned a stage platform into a rolling bed for four. I made dead branches into glowing peppermint and bubblegum trees. (We told the Oompa Loompas that all the candy had been sprayed with clear paint, but I’m pretty sure the gum never was. Roaches….dang.) Willy Wonka was a roller coaster that went up candy mountains, down stressful parent turns, around happy successes for the kids, and up-side-down in an attempt to kill me. To be honest I’m surprised me and Susanne Reynolds made it through that summer, because we did some pretty stupid stuff in the name of theatrical art. I think the longest day we spent working at Cotton Hall was 16 hours.
Bottom line—the show was hard.
By the last weekend of June, I was entirely ready for Wonka’s opening and subsequent closing, sheerly because I was tired. And the show happened, and was great. The concession stand brought in a record hall—we sold out of Wonka bars. I wouldn’t change the decision to stage Wonka, but I might would go back in time and begin the set immediately after Peter Pan… I think that would have given us enough time.
Christmastime at the Circus Marvello
And then, Marvello. Christmastime at the Circus Marvello, to be exact. A long title, I know. How did Marvello begin? To be completely honest, it began in frustration. I was not the happiest camper, and I needed something to funnel my frustration into.
I wrote scenes by hand in Pre-Calculus. I would like to thank my Pre-Calculus teacher Mr. Griffin for unknowingly allowing to write in class. It’s not that you are a boring teacher—I just don’t enjoy math. So, thank you. As I was saying, I hand-wrote in Pre-Cal, and typed new scenes at night. At Swamp Gravy, I would pass off the handwritten scenes to Susanne who had the task of translating my handwriting, so that I could go back and edit. Thanks for that, by the way. My mom told Mrs. Jennifer about my newest project—one of those pushy things that made me mad, but worked out great in the end. Mrs. Jennifer then gave me a deadline—October first. She hadn’t even looked at the script, just a rambling on-the-spot summary that did little justice to the play, but she trusted I would make it work. (Blame it on her! Haha.) So I had until October first. Actually that October 1, became October 3, but I finished the script anyway.
In a whirl-wind, we assembled a cast and began rehearsals. The cast was phenomenal! A new-comer to the Colquitt stage, Luke Johnson, auditioned for the role of Luke Noble. Do you ever feel like coincidences are meant to be? Luke, as our great production manager Kate put it, had a sincerity in his acting that was incredible—much like Preston had in Terabithia. I wrote a lead role for a teenage girl—a demographic that was always in abundance at auditions—but no one was right for the part. In the end, we had two Ingrid’s, Susanne Reynolds and Brianna Smith. Caravans were constructed, leaves strewn about the theater, and the cutest little shed in the world held together with very little skill. All of the core kids shone in their roles of the Circus runaways. Costumes were insane. The kids wore whatever clothes they had “runaway” in or that they found in the abandoned circus.
A few of the characters in Circus Marvello were based on the kids of Swamp Gravy—some of the greatest kids in the world. The role of Audrey was based on the dramatic attitude of Mattie Winburn, so you can imagine how excited I was that she could originate the role. And I owe a special debt to Heyward Stober, who defined the role of Bo. Heyward walked into the dressing room during one of my mad-dash writing sessions. October 1, remember? He looked at me sitting in the corner and said, “Will, do you know what the longest word in the English language is?” He paused for me to respond, “What?”
He didn’t hesitate before rattling off, “Antidisestablishmentarianism.” After that, he didn’t wait for a response. He just turned around and left the dressing room—that was all that needed to be said.
The Swamp Gravy kids weren’t the only ones to influence the writing of Marvello. In the midst of gathering stories for the New Life Learning Center Show, Dreaming the Day Away, I came across the perfect line to complete Marvello. A young girl, six or seven, told a short story, about her mom who “didn’t know any better” than to do things to that hurt her and her sister. The girl was then in foster care, and helped to inspire Luke’s story in Marvello. Lots of thanks and love to that young girl. Her innocence and smile contributed greatly to the message of Marvello.
One thing that has always troubled me about Marvello, is that somehow a few auditionees slipped through the cracks, and were never called to rehearsals. I’m not sure how it happened, but it was entirely my fault. Also, I would to thank those wonderful people who frustrated me beyond-belief— because of you, I wrote Marvello.
Alice in Wonderland
In 2009, Alice in Wonderland seemed like a breeze compared to the previous summer’s Willy Wonka. Alice was filled with more special effect happenings than all of the other shows put together—a floating rabbit hole, growing door, and boat that “sailed” across cement—but the preparations we made early on in the production process still made it simpler than Wonka.
Our challenge after Marvello was making sure we had an Alice, a singing Alice. And luckily, Beth Ann Hodges walked in the door. Alice was not only her first starring role, but her first play. Sydney Thomas STOLE the show with the Caterpillar’s rendition of “Zip-a-dee-doo-dah.” And Amy Thomas—oh Amy Thomas—scared the audience out of their seats—actually a few of those seats may have been wet—as the evil Queen of Hearts. It was great to see her let loose on her kingly husband Scott “Moose” Moore after her tough role in the previous Swamp Gravy.
Another group of people who deserve mention are the fantastic kids who have filled the choruses of Willy Wonka, Marvello, and Alice in Wonderland. They have always been ready to learn, dance, sing—whatever was needed of them—and made the songs of the youth theater soar.
James and the Giant Peach
This summer brings us to James and the Giant Peach—a story I’ve been making plans for since Bridge to Terabithia. The story was created by Roal Dahl—the author of both Mathilda and Willy Wonka. In honor of Mr. Dahl I think we just may bring back those Wonka bars to the concession stand at intermission—but hurry! They are sure to go fast!
Will
