Finding Faults in the Stars

Mistakes happen.

And some of us delight in finding them.  There are legions of sites devoted to the errors found in even the most popular and beloved of films.  Whether it is a stray cell in a Disney animated movie, or an accidental glimpse of a boom mic, or other object that does not belong.

My oldest son, Greg, is a film editor in Hollywood, and from an early age, was curious about how movies were actually made.  He enjoys the extras on DVDs that shows the behind the scenes construction of how everything is brought to life.

I'm not particularly interested in finding mistakes, or in how a scene was shot.  I would rather be engulfed in the world of the film I am watching, and things like that just being me out of the world.

The same is true with live theater.  I don't enjoy or look for the moments when things go wrong.  I would rather be immersed into the story that is being told.

It's true that when things go wrong is often more memorable when things go right.  It's easy to remember when I broke the sofa while doing Barefoot in the Park.  Or when the set of David and Lisa fell on me in high school.  They make for easy, stand out memories.

But what I cherish most is the play itself.  Being so involved in the story, whether as a performer or audience member, that it takes me someplace else, and I become part of something that is outside myself.

In the play I just completed, The Diary of Anne Frank, there were gaffes and tumbles, like in any almost live theater production.  None were as bad as when I first performed the play in high school.  I played the role of Mr. Dussel, the elderly dentist, who goes down the stairs to see if the Nazis were near, and comes back up, telling the others two chilling words - "Too late."  The first performance I said those words, something must have been wrong in the way I said it, because at the most serious moment of the play, the audience started rolling in laughter.  I never worked more hard as an actor than in trying to figure out the right way to say those two words to keep the audience in the story.

Was the mistake memorable?  Yes.  But the part I cherish the most is that I was able to learn and adjust.

In children's theater, such as the Flying Dragon, it is easy to find and laugh at the mistakes.  These are young children, and they are still growing and trying to find their theatrical footing.  Some mistakes are funny.  Some just make your heart go out to the child.  But none of that is what I most look forward to from children's theater.

What I cherish is watching the magic come from these children.  To discover, no matter how rough, the magical connection some of them have with the audience.  I saw it early on with Kennedy Brice, in some early play of the Dragons, where all she did was come out and greet the audience along with other cast members.  I remember turning to Alison and telling her, "That girl's got it!"

I watched Emily Beck in a series of plays, from Kindergarten age on up to her current 8th grade status, grow stronger and stronger with each performance.  I've seen that with countless others, including my son, Benjamin.  He's not just a good performer - he also connects with the audience in a positive, likable way.

In the production of The Diary of Anne Frank that I just completed, it was becoming magic, particularly by the third performance.  I was feeling more and more immersed in the part, as the words and movements fell naturally, I felt myself becoming apart of that world.  My ending speech, where I detail what happened to the families in the attic, took me to the brink of losing control, but it all felt so real.  I hoped the audience felt the same.

And the greatest joy was seeing Emily and Benjamin a part of that world.  My little Flying Dragoneers, coming into their own, bringing that attic to life.

That's worth far more than all the mistakes in the world.