I am an actor… I am also still in high school. So, basically, I am on Broadway, just minus the money, steady job, half the talent, and a humongous budget. I don’t know everything about the acting world, but one thing I do know is the universal feels-fest that is: Opening Night. The nervous poops, the last minute changes, and so much more that everyone, actor or not, can relate to on some level.
Act 1: The Night Before
9:17 p.m.
After suffering through 8 anxiety-ridden periods of school, and jolting into the dressing room or makeup chair, the finaldress rehearsal is complete. You are used to the long hours by now but this time the air feels different when you get home. A wild mix of excitement and jitters is swimming in your mind and the only thought that is floating in your head is that tomorrow is it.
10:35 p.m.
You shower away your inevitable sweatiness and the remnants of that day’s stage makeup (except the eyeliner. that is never coming off). Although you most likely don’t have even the slightest inclination of a sniffle, you devour an exuberance of cough drops. In the hopes of preserving your precious money-maker, you guzzle down gallons of tea and enough water to drown a small animal. And then, much earlier than the norm, you hop into bed.
12:04 a.m.
Lying still awake in bed, you realize, you probably are not going to bed anytime soon. The elation, sense of pride, and catchy show tunes are way too much to allow your overworked brain to rest. But it’s okay because you know that when you do fall asleep (3 hours from now) it won’t matter because your pure adrenaline will keep you afloat.
Act 2: The Torture of Waiting
6:59 a.m.
Your alarm explodes to the sounds of the ultimate Broadway hype song such as the Les Mis slammer, One Day More or Wicked’s wicked and always-inspiring Defying Gravity. Then, for one of the first times in your entire life, you get ready for school with enthusiasm. In the shower you belt out one of the show’s many solos, clutching a shampoo bottle as your mic. You then go through your lines, out loud, with full emotion. You begin to panic after you stumbled over a few vowels, but then you remember, the sun hasn’t even risen yet, and you are wet and naked. You know you have these lines down. You got this. You got this. You got this.
11:43 p.m.
In your speech or theater class, it is time to eat lunch. You glance around the room and see your cast-mates adorned with your show’s t-shirt and you realize that you’re happy to be a walking advertisement. While eating, you are sure to stray away from milk and chocolate, the diabolical antichrists of the acting world. They coat your throat, destroy your vibrato, annihilate your legato, and your falsetto… vaporized. You don’t eat much because you are scared of what it might do to your body, and the nerves are inhibiting even the slightest hint of hunger. More cough drops.
2:30 p.m.
The final bell sounds after 45 minutes of agonizing calculus notes, (that you 100% did not pay attention to a second of) and you spring out of your desk like a lil kangaroo on the sweltering Aussie savanna. As you strut past your theater on your way home, you see that they are STILL working on the set. You know that the last minute drilling, painting, decorating, and sweeping will inevitably be done in time like it always is, but you still have the unending fear of what could go horribly, horribly wrong.
Act 3: The Pre-Show Pressures
5:00 p.m.
It is call-time for your 7 o’clock show. Simply put: shit is getting real. The stress eating has commenced. But, more importantly, the vocal warm-ups have begun:
“The lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue”
-You slaughtered this one. You’re proud.
“Red Leather, Yellow Leather”
- What is this first grade? Yawn.
“Perpetually plentiful piles of petite potatoed perfection”
-Not even remotely hard. And now you’re hungry.
“Which wristwatch is a Swiss wristwatch”
-Okay a teensy bit challenging.
“Front wheel, rear wheel”
-The devil himself wrote this. THE DEVIL HIMSELF.
6:22 p.m.
After completing some mediocrely performed yoga stretches to prepare for the grueling jazz squares and pirouettes to come, you speed over to the dressing rooms to get into your most likely wildly uncomfortable costume. Then you suffer through the application of two-shades-darker foundation, cheap eyeliner, and other overly dramatic makeup- maybe even a wig- that looks terrible when you are up close, but absolutely perfect when the stage lights hit. You have checked and double checked you’re microphone, and then it happens, you’re ready.
7:04 p.m.
The director just called “Places”. As you walk to your opening position, dozens of runners and techies echo different variations of legs breaking, and you can literally feel the passion, excitement, and jitters radiating from backstage. You knock on every available piece of wood 3 times, and during the slow-motion walk to your location, you hear it. The ocean of voices resonating from the seats, that came to see you. Hundreds upon hundreds of voices fill your body with an unbelievable sense of readiness.
Coming back to reality you cast over your cast and see everyone’s pre-show regiments (after all actors are the most superstitious people you will ever meet). One girl is hiding in the curtains. One dancers legs are spread over the floor, blessing her knees and toes for luck. A boy is having a full conversation wall. Another can’t fix his eyes away from his shoes. And, everyone else is trying to talk about anything besides what is about to happen.
You reassure yourself, you are ready.
7:10 p.m.
All the voices go quiet when you hear the fire safety announcement cascade into the audience, and you pee a little bit… This is a good sign.
Act 4: The Grand Finale- “Showtime”
7:12 p.m.
Everything is silent. You hear the clanging of the curtains parting and flying to different sides of the stage. The blinding lights rise and fill up your field of vision with a sense of comfort. You look out and see the silhouettes of a full theater just as ready as you are. You take in a single cathartic breathe and it begins. This is the greatest feeling in the entire world.
The first line is spoken and all the nerves melt into your character. You grasp that you could recite this play forwards and backwards, and you are not ready for failure. You are your character. You are confident. You are ready.
8:37 p.m.
The curtain closes for intermission and cast mates nearest to each other hug in a single conglomeration of “HELL YEAH." You SLAUGHTERED those lines! You brought new life to your character!! SLAYED those jazz hands! You see notes of encouragement plastered throughout the dressing room, maybe even flowers, and you are on a HIGH. After a costume change and a huge swig of water, you run to your next location and the feeling is of pure triumph.
10:28 p.m.
The final number has subsided and then it is your turn. Your turn to run out and take your bow. You catch your cue to enter and you rush to center stage, and you are overflown with joy and pride. You stare out at what is before you and see hundreds of people standing and YELLING for you. The lights look like stars and the sound muddles into one big ol’ cacophony of bliss. Then, as you join hands with your peers, that you love, feeling exactly what you’re feeling, and bow as one, you know you’re home. Then the curtains close, the bow line turns into hugs, and the cast mutually knows that you definitely did your job, and you can’t wait to do it all over again tomorrow.
