On the Wings

I arrived at the theatre and opened up as usual. As I walked on stage to set for Act 1, I received a raucous round of applause from our 19 year old lead who had snuck into the auditorium. His laughter bellowed across the floor boards, making me chuckle with delight as I took my bow.

It was silly. It was joyous. It was infectious. 

It made me consider the effect of youth, wonder and a naturally innocent sense of humour on all of us, particularly us ‘oldies’ who, at times, seem to have become lost in the haze of adulthood.

I have always enjoyed working with youth, especially in the theatre. There is something very precious about laughter simply for laughter’s sake. Young people seem unbothered by the judgement or criticism of others. Whether they are wearing Regency dress and dancing ‘all the single ladies’ in the wings or flicking fans fantastically in each other’s faces, or swinging their cane with gusto or pulling faces, throwing the bird or cackling hysterically while their mates are on stage; they know how to have fun. 

I’m always in awe with the way they embrace their stage personalities as they soak up the directions and experiment with faces, gesture and tone. I admire how they take it all in their stride without the vapours of responsibility. They merrily wear the gumboots of theatre, sloshing and jumping, leaping and learning. And they don’t mind the occasional muddy splash. They are unphased. 

I’m a little jealous.

Oftentimes, in my tedious ‘adult’ life, humour can drift in and out of cynicism. Unfortunately, I think we naturally develop an inner criticism of others. Even if we think we’re being funny, we can forget the fog lights. Forget that we could hit a rock and unknowingly crash ashore of someone’s soul. And we fail to see them waving erratically in the mist - mystified why their colleague or acquaintance or even friend is heading straight for them through dangerous seas. 

Adults are boring.

And that’s not a criticism, it’s just how we become - we manage and control and get the job done and go home. We often long to go home. 

But, like my applauder did for me, being around young people can revitalise us. After all, we’ve all been young and frivolous once. We know the benefits of youth and a little tom-foolery. 

And I don’t believe it has to remain in our past - a romantic memory we cling to when we watch from afar. 

We encourage children to play, yet at some point we find ourselves needing to ‘grow up.’

I’m fortunate enough to have theatre - a place of make-believe where we can suspend our disbelief and embrace our inner child. 

And, don’t get me wrong, I’ve played some pretty serious roles on stage. But in between scenes and side stage, it is those precious silly moments that make the wonder of theatre wonderful. I can cry, swear, sing or scream on stage, but in the wings I can dance, pull faces and leave silly messages chalked on the wall. I can mouth the words of another character, embellishing their gestures, and I can giggle with glee. 

Some of the most important relationships in my life were born on the wings of a stage. People I have learnt to lean on, to confide in and to dearly love. Sometimes I feel they know me better than I know myself. 

Community Theatre is not about directing a hit or winning an acting award. It isn’t about putting others down or doing the job right. It isn’t about criticising or commanding or leaving someone stranded in the murky veil.

After opening the theatre the other day, I saw it. I saw it in the smiles on youthful faces. In the camaraderie shared and the hugs embraced. 

I felt it in the wings. 

I shone the torch light through the mist and joined in the dance. 

Leaving the adulting for tomorrow.