Number Drama: The Moment of Truth

As I stumbled out of my caravan, still half asleep, trying hard to find some hitherto untapped scrap of energy with which I could attack group trampoline, I ran into the director. I apologized for not commenting the night before, and explained that I wasn’t in a state to be constructive. He assured me that was fine, and then went on to tell me that we would be working on my number that afternoon. That we had never taken the time to do so. We were going to fix it. He really likes my character in the show and would like to see that character in my number…

Oh…

Those words struck me as a death sentence. My character, if you don’t know, is somewhat silly, runs around a lot, and has absolutely nothing to do with the spirit of my act.

When the time to do wheel arrived, the director started proposing things like:

“Put your arms up here to give the image of Da Vinci.”

“Add a little smile there* for the public”

And that’s when it went to shit.

I have an extremely difficult time hiding my inner monologue. Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves. I wear my thoughts on my face. I looked like I was in pain. And finally the director lost his patience with me and started yelling.

"With every proposition, you look like you're being slapped! You put up walls, won’t listen, will accept no criticism when it comes to your wheel!"

Not being one to start a yelling match, I got off the stage and went to speak to him face to face from where he was seated in the audience. And by speak to him, I also mean speak to the musical director and technical director (founding members, all), and the assistant director.

I tried to remain composed but just started crying. I explained how I felt lost, that I had no idea what they wanted from me, and that the only thing I’ve been hearing from them lately is that it doesn’t work. I told them of my doubt, how I’ve spent the last weeks worrying and dreading, unsure how to proceed. They said they wanted to see my funny character, I told them that if I were to do that, it would be caricature, and besides, that is not how I am with my wheel, that I don’t know how to be that, and if they had wanted a wheel number like that, they should have hired someone else.

I told the director that, yes, I do put up walls as soon as he comes to speak to me. I don’t know what it is about him, but I get angry and frustrated when he tries to intervene. I told him he’s unclear and while I don’t talk to him, I do seek the counsel of others. I suddenly understood that one of the reasons I have such a difficult time working with him is because of his lack of clarity and because I have to dig to get at the tiniest scrap of specificity.

More importantly, I have a hard time working with him because he proposes solutions without pinpointing the problem. And because I don’t know what the problem is, I don’t understand And because I don't understand, his propositions make no sense, feel super fake and imposed. Because his proposed solutions feel dishonest, superficial and placed, I become resentful.

Wow.

So finally, someone specifies the problems. There’s the manipulations, of course. However, unlike what I had been led to believe, it wasn't so much the manipulation as it was the approach. I was convinced they disliked them so much that I kept trying to be as efficient as possible. What they needed from me was time and care. To move my wheel with the same tenderness I approach it with at every other moment.

Out of nowhere, the director’s wife/founding member/artist in the show appeared. She began to tell me how when she was still wire walking in the show, she too would try to hide the preparation. But the truth is, the audience is interested in you. So much beauty and interest lies in the artist. Those moments of preparation are as much a gift as the the actual trick because the time the artist takes to prepare for a figure is an act of generosity to the public. That feat is being prepared for the public. There's no need to be afraid of taking the audience in your hand and bringing them along for the ride.

I took her hand and I cried.

They continued to pin point the exact moments, the four or five moments (and not the piece as a whole!) that didn't pass. I may be an artist, but the technical acrobat in me, the former gymnast in me, that side of me needs specifics and precision. Now armed with those tools, I could work.

I made some changes, and most importantly I made a request.

The one thing that has been missing in this process is a period where I can take all the time I need. The entire "Your number is too long! Cut! Cut! Cut!" period severely crippled me. I rushed, I was more worried about finishing that doing. More concerned by where I was in the music that what was happening in the moment. So I asked if during the night's run, I could take as much time I as I needed. Even if that meant taking twelve minutes.

I got the okay. Armed with clarity and time, all that was left was the real moment of truth. The night's run through would tell...


* ‘There’ is a moment midway to standing up where I’m bent over with my arms hanging down and my ass sticking out. Classy.