My Dream

You know, for the past few days, there's something I've thought about a lot (besides spring break!), and that is my idea of owning a theatre. I honestly can't shake the idea of having a place that I own, where I can do exactly what I want on my own terms.

There are people who want to be doctors, for example. They work so hard in school to have the training and certification to be able to call themselves doctors, and then they go out into the world, in an attempt to turn their passion into a career. Many of these doctors will go to work in a hospital or a clinic, or maybe go to another country and provide medical assistance there. There are also those who decide instead to start up their own practice, and to have an office with their name on the front door that they own themselves.

That's what I want. I want to pick a city or town, buy a plot of land, and literally start from scratch. I want to build a gigantic theatre that every touring production will want to visit, one with the greatest hand-picked crews, one with only the very best equipment, a theatre with a residence built right on the side where crew and performers can stay in comfort.

It would be a theatre where you never know what to expect. The entrance is at the top of a set of stairs, lit by classical streetlamps with big warm white christmas lights strung between them. You would arrive at the front entrance and be invited in by large polished brass doors. Immediately when you enter, there is a sense of warmth and belonging, and you are transported to a world where anything is possible.

Your ticket is carefully torn by a smiling usher, as you will want to keep the stub as a memento for years to come. In the lobby, people are generally milling about, though in no rush to get anywhere. Portraits and biographies of the cast and crew are hung on the walls, and guests are entertained by the humorous tidbits they find in each one, and the biographies are changed nearly every show so that even regular patrons have something new to look at. Plush chairs and couches are scattered throughout the lobby, and a few patrons decide to sit in them for a few minutes before the show begins.

The walls are various warm earth tones, but the floor and ceiling are a different matter. The floor is a beautiful ebony hardwood that has been meticulously polished, reflecting back the wide-eyed face of the young child who is entranced by his surroundings. The ceiling shimmers like millions of stars, and the ethereal swoop of the aurora borealis lightly dances among the stars. A delicate chandeliere hangs in the center of the lobby, casting a warm glow on the expectant audience.

At the appointed hour, a set of ushers begin their choreographed house opening procedure. 5 sets of magnificent oak doors are pulled open, and the lights inside the the theatre fade on, beckoning the audience to enter. More ushers, ready to help guests to their seats, stand smiling at their posts all the way down the hall. Feeling the pull of the theatre, the audience quiets to an awed whisper as they find their seats, looking all around them at the lofty ceiling, and the thick red curtains that conceal the show they are so looking forward to seeing.

Once the audience has been seated, and starting time has been reached, the house lights begin their practiced fade, and the energy in the theatre intensifies exponentially. The show has begun.


Backstage, actors have spent the past few hours preparing for yet another show, and are quietly waiting in the wings for their entrance. Video monitors are at various points where the actors congregate, allowing them to watch and listen for their entrance. They have practiced for months now, and know every cue and line by heart.

The tech crew is calmly awaiting their first cues that will come through their lightweight personal wireless headsets. A fly crew is ready and waiting on the 60 line-set fly rail, thinking through the actions they've done thousands of times already. The running crew are invisible as they stand against the wall in their blacks, listening to the usual pre-show headset chatter, and ensuring that all their props are in position. Their movements have been practiced day in and day out, and they never miss a change or a cue, and will never make a sound. The follow spot operators are flexing their fingers, ready for the lightning fast follows they'll have to do, and the quick changers are checking every stitch for the hundredth time, ensuring that no costume goes onstage torn.

The lighting booth is serene as the finger of the lighting op hovers over the GO button on a pristine ETC Congo, a list of cues meticulously programmed ready to go. They check the dimmer status module again, watching the temperatures as they hover right where they always do in the green. They reach into their filing cabinet and pull out a single Bernard Callebeaut chocolate that they silently savor.

The sound op brings up his first show cue, and the sliders silently jump to their programmed positions, anticipating all the levels they'll need to set in the coming hours. Carefully chosen house music moves the audience closer and closer to a musical climax in expectation of the performance, and the green indicator lights of wireless microphones flash excitedly, silently translating the excited words of actors further backstage.

The stage manager peers at yet another video feed, watching the man running from his taxi into the lobby, where ushers kindly then show him to his seat. An infrared camera shows that all the actors are in their places, and another in the orchestra pit confirms the same of the musicians. The SM gently presses the call button, which emits a gentle buzz that immediately stops all the headset conversations. Giving the maestro the cue, the orchestra tunes a third time, and the calls being.

Ready all cues
Orchestra begins
Light cue 4 Go
Fly cue 1 Go

The red drapes gently lift off from the stage, and to the awe of the audience, this staged world is suddenly reality.

Light cue 5 Go
Actors On
Sound cue 1 Ready

The play begins, actors enter and leave the stage, lights fade up and down, the audience laughs and cries, running crews sneak on and off, and this reality is suspended, held by the commitment of the performers and crew, and accepted by the awed audience.

At the end, the actors make their bows, followed by the technicians. A standing ovation continues for several minutes as the actors and crew bow repeatedly, beaming in happiness at the outstanding performance.

And when that is all over, the audience leaves, back through those oak doors, across the ebony floor, down the stairs, and into their cars, where they excitedly talk about the show they just saw.

The performers applaud one for another outstanding performance, put their costumes carefully away in the wardrobe room, and slowly make their way towards the backstage bar. Family and friends cheer when they see the actors and crew enter, and everyone takes a seat in the room, enjoying a drink to cool them down after the show. The conversations grow louder as time wears on, until the stage manager steps onto a raised platform, and the hubub quickly dies out. Notes are given en mass, and for 15 minutes everyone is completely focused on the notes the SM is giving. The microphone is then passed onto another member of the group, who gives a short speech of praise for a fellow actor/technician, and then awards them the trophy that passes between every person in the room at some time or another.

With all the official business finished, cast and crew begin to say goodnight and disperse to their dormitories, where they will be able to sleep comfortably in anticipation of another performance the next day.

Everyone is completely committed to the performance, and will do whatever it takes to make it totally amazing.

And with the theatre silent, the owner walks through his theatre, flipping up that one seat that didn't quite make it all the way up, putting away the roll of gaff someone mistakenly left out, and stands centre stage. Looking out at his theatre, he brings his watch up, checks the time, and at exactly 1AM, the lights fade out, leaving a single bright night light casting a faint glow on the entire theatre. He turns, walks offstage, says goodnight to the few runners still chatting outside the bar, rings the elevator, and pushes the button for his room. The elevator pulls him up to the top floor where he disembarks, and quietly gets changes for sleep.

Another day in the theatre.