Sun, Nov. 24
... A view from the stage
How to explain it? It's the bittersweet feeling at the end of the show; the one you think you're a bit crazy for feeling the first time you experience it. The second time, you start to wonder if you'll feel it every time, and by the third time, you know.
There's the energy during the show--the adrenaline that pumps through you, causing your hands to shake and your heart to pound, making everything outside of focusing on the show fade into a blur, and causing the show itself to come into sharp, clear, crisp focus. You're hot, you're cold, you're flushed, you're tired, you're energized, you're excited, you're nervous, all at the same time. Every sense becomes heightened, but only in regards to the show. All the rehearsals, sweat, tears, blood, work, challenges, victories... all of it has paid off in the end, and all that's left is the curtain call.
The final curtain call. So proud your heart could burst. Wanting to jump up and down and scream their names, telling them just how well they did and how much you want them to know that you love them and can see all the hard work paying off. You see the restrained emotion on their faces, the exhilaration trying to escape, but trying to remain in character for those few final minutes.
The hugs. The tears. The exclamations. The laughter. "We did it! This was our best show yet!" "It was amazing! Did you see..." "I loved..." Taking pictures, immortalizing this cast in all its costumed glory, because of course this is the best there ever was or ever will be. Congratulating every cast and crew member, making sure no one gets left out of the celebration, wanting to hold the moment for as long as possible because....
All too soon, it's all over. Time to strike the set. The show has officially become a part of the past. Time to move on with life, to not spend every day with these people, to have a life outside of rehearsals.
There's a bond here, though--something you don't get outside of the theatre. The "outsiders" just don't quite understand. It's a bond that comes with vulnerability, trust, frustration, finally getting it, working together, seeing the chemistry finally click, spending so many hours together, learning to understand. It's a bond that's never quite the same after the show is over. It continues, but there's something about the entire cast being there that's never quite recaptured afterwards.
Every show has its own personality. A different show with the same cast would be completely different. The show takes on a life of its own, and there's no way to stop the creature that it becomes. Who would want to, anyways?
You feel the relief that it's over, the exhilaration of ending the run on the best show yet, the sadness of losing the connection, the prospect of having a bit more free time, the anticipation for the next show, and you don't know which feeling should win out. You don't know what you're supposed to be feeling right now, or how it's all supposed to fit together. You feel like you're losing something precious and gaining something momentous, all at the same time.
But this is theatre. This is the way it always has been and always will be. This is the feeling that comes. This is the understanding of a show that stays in your blood, because they all do. Every show is the best--the best cast, the tightest bonds, the funniest inside jokes, the most incongruous flubs, the most enthusiastic audience reaction, the most touching moment, the most fun rehearsals... Every show is the best.
Until the next one.
And it's that pursuit of the high that keeps us coming back for more.
infinite || abyss
posted at 3:10 a.m.
