Mornings here are quiet brilliant. Streets empty, sky clear, gulls singing, Ravens commenting on said gulls voices, a few stalwart souls who like me burn the candles at both ends and while having had a time of times last night or early today are up and wandering, not only to find coffee but to fill up on the energy, the beauty of this loveliest of cities. The theatre spaces all are waking up, the crews coming in, picking up the programs blowing across the ground, tech crews discussing lights that went wrong, sets to fix, how to deal with overly enthusiastic audience members. And all of us who wander, not lost but following a mystic map only reveals itself to you step by step, are going over whatever we need to in our collective minds, which all seem to emit a hum, an energy, and life force.
My mind is full of theatre, of people I have met, of costume changes, flyers, of Real Mary's Kings Close and plague doctors and what happens when the lights go out in the middle of a show. My eyes are watery, I blink and I'm in front of a coffee shop.
Yesterday morning, I awoke around 6:30, fairly standard for me, grabbed my laptop and headed out to write and caffeinate and do everything I've just been talking about. I was going over how to address my cast and myself, how to make amends and clarify the air. Ran into one of the cast, figured this was the time to start, and just spoke as plainly and truthfully as I could.
That seems to be the only way to go. Just don't bullshit, say what you feel, hope for the best, and move on.
And lo and behold, that was indeed the way to go. Letting go of self created toxins is the best feeling. It did indeed feel like learning to fly.
So I grab more coffee, fly over the buildings and back to the flat, grab Lisa, and off we go to meet some of the troupe as we are taking a tour of Mary's Kings Close, an old part of the city now underground, a guided tour of sorts full of really cool info and access to walk around rooms and alleys in a now subterranean city. Very cool. And a little bit haunted.
At the end of the tour, our guide tells us he is also an actor, and that he is in a show at the festival called Godfather Death: A Grimm's Musical. Which just happens to be a show we have already bought tickets to see that very day.
Coincidence is a thing here. Happens daily, almost hourly. Someone you know is standing next to you at the pie shop. Someone who saw our show last year bumps into you as you head into a show and loudly talks about how great last year's show was. An old friend is in a show you are seeing and you had no idea they were even here.
It just happens.
After the tour- truly worth it and I highly recommend to anyone coming here, we head to the flat to read through the show. I make my amends to the rest of the cast, we read through, and it feels good. Everyone is laughing and excited and here we are, in Edinburgh, about to perform the entire show for the first time at the festival. It's electric.
Then we toodle off to see Godfather Death. It's really good. Sort of a modern fable with music that was somewhere between Godspell and Hadestown. Our tour guide is playing Death himself. And he's terrific. We are at about fifty minutes into this one hour show, when the lights go out.
All of them.
Clearly not a lighting cue. The band is an electric keyboard and a drum set. At the point where the lights went out Death had just started what felt like the epic and of show number for a lead character. And when the lights left the building, he stayed in character and kept singing. And the drummer kept playing. And we all lost our minds and were cheering and clapping. We see the stage manager run up the aisle and to the backstage area. Death keeps singing. The stage manager comes back, stops the show for a second with their authoritative stage manager voice to say power is out in the whole building. We all say "keep going", Death does, and we start holding up our cell phones with flashlight on to light the stage. And it's great. Then the main building people- in charge or not only the theatre we are in but several others in the complex, in an even more authoritative voice, informs us the show must stop, we are evacuating the building. A huge collective sigh permeates the room, and we shuffle out. I chat with the cast and show's producer on the way out, as we are all in line together. Very nice people. They hope to come to our show, and we hope to come back to theirs.
Such is life sometimes. Unexpected, with highs and lows doled out in equal measure.
And it's time for the show. Well, first, I run to our space to make sure our power is on, then run back to the flat, get my costumes, take a breath, and head back. Now it's time for the show.
It's a light house, but we know that coming in. We have never run the show in its entirety in the space. We are all still a little jet lagged and don't have time to do anything but gear up and go.
And we kick the shit out of it. The tiny audience is into it.
And a show is born.
After, we go out as a group, a team, a family, and eat and drink and laugh and feel like the rock stars we are.
And all is well.
On to another day.
Today's song is By and By by Caamp, in honor of the Lifeforce of this town, this festival, and this show.
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