And then something beautiful happens - a detail on a backdrop,
a child loves the mask you thought they would hate, a moment of complicite, a silence that sings.
Going slightly mad? I think so...
Who's idea was it to do 3 performances on one night? The fool! Ok each one is only 20 minutes, but is so much to think of, and I have trouble keeping thoughts in my head at the best of times. And I've lost my diary.
And to anyone who thinks that as director I should be holding it together with a calm and confident demeanour - I say "bugger off!"
I have this theory that if I hide my panic by acting calm and confident, then I will transfer, by Freudian psychological processes, my panic and chaos, to the actors, then they will have to try to deal with it, but it will be unspoken, out of sight but squeaking incessantly like an injured mouse under the claws of a silent, but very hungry cat.
Anyway, I am confident. I have great confidence that we have done our very utmost best, and that
on the day, we will pull together some excellent
performances. In all of our previous shows, there was something extra in the performance, something that I didn't imagine or plan for. Something chrystalised, all the last minute stuff, the final inspiration, the moment of clarity.
It's the final countdown. We are in the middle of the jungle. We are surrounded by the sounds of strange animals, exotic creatures, beautiful and deadly, with teeth and venom and huge rainbow coloured feathers, translucent wings, and eyes that dart about toungues that flicker.
We cut our way through the thorny, tangled undergrowth, finding treasures on the way, hands held tightly, then let go suddenly.
All this, all of this, and at the end of the day - it's just a performance. Just another performance. And it isn't event set in a jungle.
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