The Last Script

It's November 1. Or, as I have decided to call it, "NO-vember". At 58, having survived what I have survived, endured what I have endured, and enjoyed what I have enjoyed, I have entered that phase of my life in which I no longer tolerate things and people around me that don't bring me the joy, love, and the respect that I have earned. I have also learned how to walk away and not look back, and it is the most freeing feeling I have ever experienced.

This time last year, I began rehearsals for a show I was so excited about. A role I had worked harder for than anything else in my 40+ year career as an actor, second only to Eva Peron in EVITA. For months ahead of the audition, I listened to songs over and over, memorized entire monologues, and worked tirelessly to perfect a dialect I had not really done before. All of this with the help of a well known, well respected actor that I am lucky enough to call my dear friend.

I'll admit that after forty years with basically the same company, I had become somewhat lazy, adopting the mentality that "if they don't know what I can do by now, they never will". But I'm not afraid to say it - I worked my ass off, and was nervous as Hell when audition day came around. I had studied this show and this character so much, and was so invested. I was ready, but terrified. Especially since the people behind the table had changed completely since my first audition in 1986.

Fast forward one year, and I am still devastated and in disbelief at what became the most heartbreaking experience of my entire acting career. I should have listened to my gut after the first "rehearsal", which was disorganized, rambling, and not even in a real rehearsal space. The only other show I had ever done where red flags had popped up at the very first rehearsal, I didn't listen to my gut, and it ended up being a horrible experience. "I am going to cut this song because that's the way my college acting professor did it". "You need to hurry this scene - we have to get to the next song". I had promised myself never again. Yet here we were.

If you're going to direct a show, particularly one with heavy themes, it's important (at least in my opinion - not so much to others, I fear) to have a full understanding of the material and its relevance not only to the story that is being told, but that still resonates in the present world we live in. Lunatics are running the country, rights are being taken away, and entire populations are being treated as sub-human: hunted, separated from loved ones, and placed in facilities. Sound familiar? It should, and it should scare the shit out of you.

Many of us are just exhausted. Overwhelmed at the constant barrage of news reports detailing the horrible things humans are doing to each other, we will either stand up and face the demon head on, or simply withdraw from the world, too emotionally beaten down to fight back.

The latter was at the crux of my character's version of the "eleven o'clock number". Knowing what is coming but not having the energy or fortitude to face it all again, so making the choice to be a silent observer, riding the wave of inevitable destruction. Sacrificing one's own chance at happiness to avoid making herself a target. A critical moment in the show......or so I thought. Apparently not.

Unbeknownst to me, the decision had been made before auditions were even held, to remove this song. Not mentioned when auditions were announced, giving actors the opportunity to make an informed decision about whether they felt they would be a good fit for this particular production. I was only notified at the first music rehearsal, just as I was poised to run this number for the first time.

The rationale? Because when sitting in the audience watching the show on Broadway, it was noted that theatre goers were looking down at their programs during the number. When I realized with horror that this was not, in fact, a joke, my heart leapt into my throat and I literally began to shake, breaking into a cold sweat. Even as I type this a year later, I feel that familiar tightness in my chest, and still can't believe it actually happened.

I found myself fighting for this song - not for vain reasons, but for this character, who had already become such a part of me, and for the story, for the very real history that seems to be repeating itself. I went ahead and sang the song, giving it everything I had, vocally and emotionally. It felt like I was auditioning all over again for a role I already had. I'm not going to lie, after almost 40 years with the same company, it felt insulting and humiliating. Not to mention the fact that I still could not wrap my brain around the fact that cutting such an important song was even being considered.

Now remember, I had been down this road before, and didn't speak up. I was determined not to allow that to happen again. I have more respect for myself than I did then. So I did something I never would have imagined myself doing. I very calmly and respectfully said that if the song were removed, I would need to be replaced.

Two weeks later, having moved ahead with rehearsals under a veil of uncertainty, and arguing passionately for what I believed in, I was replaced. I don't have words for the shock and heartbreak that I felt when I realized that this was actually happening. I had worked for this, I had planned for this, and in one phone call it was gone.

The worst part? No one behind the scenes said or did anything. Some of my friends knew what had happened, and were supportive, but those I had known for years, those who were in a position to stand up for artistic integrity, were completely silent. Replacing me with someone I used to have tremendous respect for as an artist, but who I now viewed as a sell-out.

Why am I writing about this now? It's not that I suddenly decided I wanted to go online and whine about lost opportunities. It has taken me this long to process what feels like the worst professional betrayal of my career. To be honest, I still can't bring myself to throw away the script. But I can't help but think back to the earlier years of the company, to our fearless leader who I miss every day, who would never have let something like this happen. When the mission was to provide a small community with an enjoyable and authentic artistic experience.

And so I walk away. I walk away having left my mark, and with my integrity intact. I choose to stand up for what I believe in and to surround myself only with things and people that bring me joy and make me feel appreciated and respected. I guess I am less like that character than I thought. I chose the happily ever after instead of fading into the background. My happily ever after just looks different than I expected it to. And I'm fine with that.

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