So, I talked a bit in my last post about the fascinating task of maintaining the master version of the Stick Fly script. I do this so that we can print out, at a moment’s notice, totally updated versions of the script for designers, actors, and anybody else who might need them. It’s kind of a crazy process, because new changes to the script—ranging from the slightest changes in punctuation to entire new monologues or totally redrafted scenes—are all still occurring in response to all the amazing work that is happening in rehearsal.

I make my way over to the rehearsal room at least once a day to peek at Cheryl’s script. As the Production Stage Manager, she sits in rehearsals and records everything from prop and sound notes (as detailed in yesterday’s post by Adam), to the actors’ blocking, to all the changes being made in the script. She keeps a helpful list of the page numbers where changes have occurred, so I flip through and make those changes in my printed version of the script. Then I dash back to my office to type them into my master version on the computer. The tricky part here is that both stage management and the actors like to keep page numbers the same whenever possible, so that if a change happens in the middle of the script they can just replace that page without renumbering every page that follows. Sometimes this requires adding a page numbered something like “87A,” which goes between pages 87 and 88. I’ve developed my own crazy system of page breaks and text boxes to get Microsoft Word to allow this sort of theatrical jerry-rigging.

But the really exciting part of being in charge of this process is that I get to watch the script morph and change over the course of the rehearsal like, well, like Taylor studying her flies under a microscope. Like today, for instance. This morning Lydia brought in a new draft of the very last scene of the play. I applied my text boxes and page breaks, and then printed out copies of the new pages for the actors. I had read the scene as I was working on formatting, but I stuck around to hear the actors as they took a look at the new pages and read this draft aloud for the first time. It was so beautiful. There is one moment in particular that has been happening off stage, which Lydia brought on stage in this draft so the audience could see it for themselves. I feel like in each new draft I can see the play growing, becoming a more precise, economical, poetic, powerful, emotionally impactful work of art.

I have to say I have developed an immense respect and admiration for playwright Lydia Diamond. It’s a great privilege to me to get to peek over her shoulder as she wields her remarkable craft. I learn so much about writing, about creating characters, about revealing depth, change, truth, and epiphany in quiet moments that sink directly into your subconscious, intuitive experience, as well as in powerful, moving scenes of eloquence and drama. But it’s not just her skill at writing that impresses me. It is also the spirit and grace she brings to her interactions with everyone else in the rehearsal room. She has a smile for me every time I pop in with a new set of page replacements. You can see where so many of her characters get their underlying goodness and humanity, and why her script connects to you on such an intimate, personal level. This is a person you want to emulate, not just in level of talent, but in conduct of life. These are the sorts of things you never expected to learn when you signed up to spend eleven months interning at a regional theater. And they are the things that will hit you the deepest, and stay with you the longest.

There is a fly buzzing around in my office even as I type this. I wonder what fascinating things it’s learning.

Posted by Elizabeth Edwards, Literary Intern at McCarter Theatre

This entry was posted on Friday, August 24th, 2007 at 2:36 pm and is filed under Get Connected, Stick Fly. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.