There’s a term in theater that is implemented right around the final dress rehearsal: “The show is frozen.” What that means is that the show cannot, for the sake of courtesy and continuity, be altered after that point. No props will be added, no sets will be tweaked, blocking can’t be changed…everything sticks. Our “producer” for The Most Fabulous Story Ever Told must have missed that memo.

Backstage

When I walked into the theater for the November 13 performance, our fourth, the entire second act set was drastically different than it was a week earlier. By comparison, the previous set was minimalist with interpretively painted flats, simple decorations and three chairs rigged together with thick ropes for what was generously considered to be a couch.

On the 13th almost all of that had either been tweaked or removed entirely. The “walls” were painted purple with a random scaly pattern painted over it, the walls were dripping with tacky Christmas lights, and the uncomfortable “couch” was replaced by an overstuffed leather couch.

A portion of me did consider this to be an improvement over what we had before, but the rest of me—the more sensible if not angrier side—was perturbed.

As if it needs reiteration, this production, no matter how enjoyable, lacked many commonalities that are simply standard in other theater companies. No one ever explicitly says “the show is frozen,” it’s just assumed that the set you left at the end of week one will be the same when you report for week two. But I think it was Confucius who once said, “To assume is to make an ‘ass’ out of ‘you’ and ‘me.’” (Don’t quote me on that.)

It wasn’t just sets either. Whole lines were added, dropped, and bastardized for the second week’s performances. The one that sticks out to me (big time, because anachronisms are a hobby of mine) was the use of the pet-name “baby.” As in “baby, I ache for you.”

This would work if the scene it was said in didn’t take place in ancient Egypt.
As time wore on, it kind of became a joke among the cast. Night after night, we never knew when “baby” would pop up again. And it did. Quite a bit. Each time more awkward than the time before.

If this show was ever “frozen” in a traditional sense, it thawed pretty damn quickly. I recognized that, and seeing as how our “producer/star” was okay with it, so was I. Call me petulant, but as long as we were being indulgent, I thought I would humor myself and add a line or two of my own. What can I say? I’m a giver.

There is a moment in the show where the awkward delivery leaves a pause big enough to drive a Mack truck through. Its at this point where all my feelings—good and bad—purge themselves in the form of an ad-lib. There I am, silently sitting on this awkward set, with its overabundance of Christmas décor, nauseating colors and shapes, and the awkwardly-gaited man standing in the center of it, absorbing its malodorous energy like Manna from the gods, and I cannot take it anymore.

“IT LOOKS LIKE K-MART THREW UP IN HERE!” I blurt.

I would’ve felt bad, I should have felt bad. How unprofessional am I to do exactly what I’ve been preaching against for so long? Yes, I would have felt bad…had it not generated an uproarious reaction from the audience. Which it did. This was all the coaxing I needed to keep the line and deliver it every subsequent night. Not my proudest moment, but what the hell, I’m better for it. The show was better for it.

The final three performances made it all worth it for me, however. The audiences were amazing and in the double digits every night, the cast grew closer, and after being threatened endlessly with “tingling nipple cream” and crotches rubbed dangerously close to my face, (when you’re an actor, there’s no such thing as proximity issues,) and my icy demeanor towards the show warmed a little. Sure, it wasn’t perfectly executed, led, or even performed every night, but would it be any different had it been?

The Most Fabulous Story Ever Told will never reach stratospheric status on my resume, but I put it there for a reason. For a show about God, the mysteries of the universe and the trials and tribulations of the unguided souls who inhabit it, it was a pretty shallow experience.

But that doesn’t cheapen the outcome. What matters is that the audience, no matter how big or small, found it appealing and worth their time and money. I was a big part of that equation, and I stand by my efforts.

It may be a misfire in the long run but misfires happen so that the next bullet is a kill shot.

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