Reminiscing on Cabaret
This past weekend I participated in my theater companies annual Gala fundraiser, as I have for the last three years. We were highlighting all the shows that Tri-M has ever put on, so we performed some pieces from all thirteen shows they have done in the last four years. I have been in five of them, and will make it six when we start rehearsals for Fiddler on the Roof on October 1st, (I’m playing Hodel!).
In honor of the gala and in looking forward to Fiddler on the Roof, I decided this week I would post an except from a creative non-fiction piece that I wrote a few years ago about Tri-M and theater. I wrote the piece for a creative nonfiction class that I was taking through our local community college, which I loved and learned so much from. That class was part of what pushed me towards going back to school. I also credit returning to theater when I was 28 and getting the role of Fraulein Schneider in Cabaret as fundamentally changing me as a person. It built my confidence more than I could have dreamed, and started me on this path back towards my creative self that I’m now on. Without further ado, here is the excerpt.
Backstage preparing for the show.
Except from Singing is Twice Praying by Anna Balsamo:
It was opening night. I arrived at the Women’s Club, our makeshift theater for Cabaret, full of jittery nerves and excitement. Some of the other actors were already there, enthusiastically applying layers of makeup and blasting pump up music, but I slipped into the empty bathroom, knowing I needed some quiet to center myself. My brown eyes stared back at me from the mirror as I started the process of pulling back two tiny braids into a crown around my head, then wrapping thick chunks of my long hair around the braid to pull my hair up into a 1940’s updo. My best friend, the previously mentioned tap dancer, as well as my husband would be in the audience tonight. I felt fairly calm, but knew the nerves would hit as soon as the show started.
Later, in the back room of the Women’s Club, all of the actors gathered to warm up and prepare ourselves. Tables were strewn with makeup, discarded clothes, and water bottles. I touched the mike taped to my face over and over to make sure it wasn’t going to fall off. Music was blasting, probably something by Rihanna or Beyonce, and our tiny energetic dance captain made us all gather in two long lines, creating a makeshift runway. We took turns strutting our stuff as the cast whooped and hollered. I fought back a little anxiety about doing something sexy, cool, or cute enough, and made myself do it anyway, leaning into the new found confidence that this show had created in me. My castmates cheered just as loudly for me.
“Let’s circle up!” Julie called after a few rounds of the runway, and someone turned off the music as we all gathered. Julie started a game, calling “Woop!” as she pretended to throw a ball across the circle at Ian. Ian bounced it back and the invisible ball made its way around the circle, each person coming up with a new sound and miming the ball being heavy or very light or dropping it. After a few rounds we all took hands, and the energy shifted to something quieter. I looked around, making eye contact with Julie, whose hair was extravagantly curled 40’s style and her glittery makeup sparkled. We sent hand squeezes around the circle, seeing how fast we could pass the squeeze. Then someone, probably Julie or Ian, made a speech about how much they loved us and this show and how we were totally ready to kill it. Jensen, my love interest and scene partner, taught us his tradition of touching every cast member on the back and saying “I’ve got your back.” We circled around the room, making sure to get everyone’s backs, with a few hugs thrown in. And we were finally ready. “It’s time!” someone said, and the excitement caught in my throat. We all filed out of the room and through the connecting door to backstage.
Backstage at the Women’s Club was tiny, and it was full of racks of our costumes, wigs hanging on the wall and props carefully set on one of the tables. We pressed ourselves against the walls and crammed into the corners, as Marilyn made her opening speech and then the lights went down. I listened to the opening number with my stomach rising into my chest, trying to keep my breath even. The audience roared their approval as the song ended and those of us backstage grinned at each other, knowing that they were going to love the show.
Later, I prepared for my big number, standing in the hallway outside of the bathroom and trying to get into the headspace of Fraulein Schneider, who had just decided to break off her engagement with her sweet lover because she had realized that it wouldn’t be safe for her to be married to a Jew. I quickened my breath as if fighting tears, a technique I had picked up from Julie somewhere in the rehearsal process, telling my body that I was upset as much as my brain. Then it was time to stand behind the curtain next to Ian, readying myself to go onstage for my starring moment. I was shaking a little. I heard my cue and walked onto stage, no longer myself but an older German woman with a broken heart. I couldn’t really see the audience past the glare of the lights, and as I started to sing What Would You Do? I felt the heaviness that Donna had asked for in my audition sink into my bones. The nervousness I felt in the beginning of the song dissipated as I continued to sing, and I felt the power in my voice, low and strong. I did not falter.
