(~3 minutes to read)
My latest play, Trail Mix and Chips, was performed four times last week, and is due to be performed in competition on April 30th (yes, I’m writing this prior to the competition).
Two of the younger members of the theatre group I belong to had asked me to write a script for them, and requested a two-person romantic comedy. I don’t really do romantic (ask Mrs. H!) and my comedy tends to be a little on the caustic side, but I thought, “what the heck—step outside your comfort zone…”
Although they’d asked for a two person romantic comedy and received a three person sort-of-comedy that revolves around a couple getting to know each other a lot better in a potentially hazardous situation, they were thrilled with the script (or so they said), and after some workshopping, we settled on a “final” version.
The play is about a young couple who are stranded on a remote cut line in the backcountry after running out of gas, and have to move beyond the blame game in order to rescue themselves or be rescued. We recruited a guy to play the third character (a 45-year-old), and went into rehearsals.
Fast-forward to dress rehearsal.
On the day of, the guy playing the third character received bad news from Manitoba (approx. 1,300km from Okotoks), and had to go to a funeral there. This meant he would miss three out of the four performances. This left us with a dilemma. Do we withdraw? Do we find a replacement? What other options are there?
In the end, we decided that I would learn the part. I had four days to learn it in, and I also had to learn how to string a recurve hunting bow and carry it like I knew what I was doing.
Unfortunately, I wrote the play for Canadians to perform, and my accent, rhythm and intonation are all still somewhat English, even after 22 years. My attempts to affect a western Canadian accent are painful to listen to, but the phrasing demanded some kind of concession to my accent. The upside is that I must have succeeded quite well in writing for Canadians if delivery in a mid-Atlantic accent wouldn’t cut it.
Friday night came, and I drove the other two actors crazy with my need to run lines and visualize moves. But the extra line running paid off and we made it through the three performances with only one potential hiccup. At one point I’m supposed to say “The Wrangler on the cut line over there?” to which the other male character replies “No, the damned Lexus parked on the concrete pad over there.” Something (fear, lack of rehearsal, or old age) made me say, “The Lex… the Wrangler on the cut line over there?” and my young companion saved me by changing his sarcastic reply to, “No, the damned Mercedes parked on the pad over there!”
Thanks Keigan!
I’m holding out hopes that the play and the actors will do well in competition. The standard has been pretty high in previous years, but (and I know this sounds like I’m tooting my own horn) I won the award for best original script last year with Act III, and several people have said that Trail Mix and Chips is my best yet, so fingers crossed.
So now I know what it’s like to have to step in at the last moment, and Mrs. H knows that I can do romantic if I have to and wants to know where her share is!
And I know what it’s like to be in a play that I wrote—hoist by my own petard.