The Resilience of Actors

I sat next to a young man who was trying not to cry as tears ran down his face.

He began, “I don’t do well with change.”

“I know this is a difficult moment,” I said. “Change can be hard.”

“But people tell me it’s good.”

“It can be both,” I replied. “First it’s hard, then it’s good. You have to go through the hard part first. The disappointment and the frustration. But then it can be good.”

He turned his head to me slowly, “I didn’t know it could be both.”

“Oh yes,” I said with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s almost always both.”

I had to make an announcement at rehearsal last night that was difficult. Prior to making it I kind of felt like I was going to throw up. My heart was racing and I could feel beads of sweat gathering at my brow.

Through a completely honest mistake made by a couple of very dedicated administrators, the theatre organization I work for thought they secured the rights to Disney’s Peter Pan JR, the musical. Instead, they secured the rights to Broadway’s Peter Pan Junior. Thus, we’ve been rehearsing a show for five weeks (the Disney version) that, ultimately, we’re not allowed to perform. Not only because we don’t have the rights but also–as I learned last week–because Disney pulled the rights to their version of this script in 2020 due to “insensitive content.” That discovery sank to the pit of my stomach as I knew I would have to be the one to tell 41 adults with disabilities who have been talking about Peter Pan for months that we were no longer performing Peter Pan.

You may be wondering at this point why we didn’t pivot to the Broadway version for which we had the rights. Unfortunately, it doesn’t include 15 characters that the Disney version featured. Thus, if we went that route we would be left without an adequate number of roles to give to our actors.

To that end, the day we made the dreaded rights discovery my music director and I holed ourselves up in a conference room for 7 hours and we created the skeleton of a new show–a showcase–including songs, monologues, and scenes that are tailored to the strengths of our cast members. Over the next several days, I scoured my play shelves and the Internet for material the actors could perform and we came up with a show we’re very proud of . . . which was the easy part. Leading our actors through the moments in which they learned they would be performing in a new show that has nothing to do with Peter, Wendy, or Captain Hook was the hard part.

The actors assembled last night. Bright eyed. Peter Pan scripts in hand. The air was abuzz with lightness and anticipation for the evening ahead–particularly because this was the moment the Lost Boys–who don’t show up until halfway through the script–would finally get a chance to take the stage. Instead . . .

“Hello ladies and gentleman! I’m so happy to see everyone this evening! So, I have a question . . . please raise your hand if anyone in this room has ever had to give someone a little bit of bad news.” About half the room raised their hands. “Would anyone be willing to tell me how they felt before they delivered their bad news?”

William raised his hand first, “Well, actually . . . well, actually, I would say I felt fear. Yes, that’s right. I felt fear.”

Next, Michael chimed in, “Guilty.”

After him, Felicity, “I felt anxious. Like a bad thing might happen.”

“Thank you for sharing your feelings. I can relate to them. Right now I feel anxious because I have to give all of you a bit of bad news.”

The initial responses from the group varied widely. One woman yelled out, “This is stupid!” Another said, “We have to be flexible.” One gentleman grew angry and had to leave the room with his aid to compose himself while another threw his Peter Pan script on the floor and said, “Let’s do Grease!” The staff and I were as prepared as we could be for this initial onslaught.

“I understand that most of you are feeling very disappointed,” I said. “That is an appropriate thing to feel. Let’s talk about it. Please raise your hand if you would like me to come around with the microphone so you can share how you feel.”

Here were some of their responses:

• “I feel sad because I learned all my lines already and now my family will never know how hard I worked.”
• “Well, I was looking forward to being a lead. Now I will have to wait another six months to audition and try out for a lead again. What if I never get another lead?”
• “I learned all my songs and now no one will ever hear me sing them.”
• “I feel sad because my family was so proud of me that they made an announcement on Facebook about being proud of me and now what will they have to be proud of?”
• “I feel like this is my fault.”
• “Let do Grease!”

After everyone who wanted to share did, I announced our new show. It’s called Lights Up! Stories of Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever After. With the energy and optimism of a thousand suns, I announced each cast member, each song, each monologue, and each scene as though it were the most shining piece of theatre ever written. In acting terms I played the actions, to shine, to lift up, and to cradle all at once. The actors began to transition as best they could to cheering for their fellow cast mates as their roles were announced, as well as celebrating their own roles.

Some were genuinely excited while others lowered their heads to continue crying. Some talked themselves into moving forward. Others had a lot of questions for me during our break.

Soon, our wonderful music director began to teach the first song in our production of Lights Up!, which lightened the room a bit. Then, I taught a lesson about acting objectives and motivations.

At the end of the evening, one of the actors asked, “Is this rehearsal? Are we doing Peter Pan next time?” Another, as he was gathering his things shouted, “We’re doing Grease!”

When everyone left the room, I felt like crying. I could feel the confusion in the room. The conflicting emotions of feeling sadness but wanting to feel happy again. I was so proud of the men and women who all did their best to make sense of what was a confusing situation for them and I remembered Gabriel whose revelation about change was genuine and, I hope, helpful.

I sat with the thought, “The show must go on.”

Now, it’s time to build our new production. To don resilience like a magic cloak and flexibility like a bejeweled staff.

Just like acting troupes all over the world and throughout time, we will learn our parts and we will play them before an audience with courage and great aplomb. Indeed, this truth is captured in the opening monologue for Lights Up!, which begins:

"All the world's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players; 
They have their exists and their entrances; 
And one man in his time plays many parts . . ."

Onward and upward, dear players.