Finding Her Expression

My first acting experience took place at the age of six. In a graveyard. Illegally.

My dad and his friends were making a three-minute, black and white silent film to enter in a contest and I was to be the star. Well, not exactly: I was in it for 30 seconds. When I first arrived at our ‘set’ all I could think about was the big “Do Not Enter” sign hanging on the gate. As I asked if it was okay for us to be there, Dad lifted me up and over the gate without a response.

While I waited for Dad to crawl over the fence I surveyed my surroundings: dead grass, headstones and a stone building sitting on the opposite side of the graveyard. An archway stood connected to nothing, missing stones created gaps in the walls and the roof was completely missing. Dad had made it over the fence and knelt down to my height.

“Over there is the entrance to Hell,” he whispered pointing to the rustic building. “On Halloween, they say, the gates to Hell open right here.”

I was officially creeped out. I don’t remember much other than walking into the building and doing a lot of standing around, but I remember spending a lot of time on something that would be only three minutes long. My cast-mates were two of Dad’s friends, Mike, and Mike’s then-girlfriend. Mike spun me around on his shoulders and lifted me in the air and his girlfriend let me wear her costume pieces while we waited for my dad to set up. As I stood in the building with her veil over my face, I realized that it wasn’t as much about making the movie as much as it was about the memories made.

From then on, I was hooked. Not necessarily on acting but on the feeling of being around entertaining people and being part of something unique. Dad proceeded to make films with me in them, and my range grew from screaming little kid to Miss Muffet to murderous hand buried in leaves. While being cast in my dad’s films was fun, I wanted to know if I could make it on my own.

In the summer before sixth grade, I signed up for an acting class at the Coterie Theatre for just that purpose. We would be performing “The Wizard of Wonderland”, a musical mash-up of “The Wizard of Oz” and “Alice in Wonderland.” The first day there, we auditioned for roles. I went in feeling confident, but during the vocal audition my voice cracked and I panicked, dropping lyrics left and right. Surprisingly, I was still cast as the role of the White Rabbit, a main character who donned a Flavor-Flav-size clock around his neck.

As the rehearsals went on, I became best friends with the Scarecrow, played by a girl named Cianan who attended school at Pembroke Hill. She and I sat by each other during every rehearsal and lunch. When Cianan developed a crush on a flying monkey, I was sent to tell him she thought he was cute. They started dating, but the next week she had a crush on the lead and I had to tell him she liked him, too. Of course, this was before her boyfriend dumped her because of suspicions of another crush. Though it sounds stupid now, the fact that she chose me out of all the other cast members to be her messenger made me feel special and even needed.

The first day without rehearsal felt empty and all I wanted to do was return to the Coterie and see my friends. What I discovered over the next week was that the theater was something I needed. After that camp I knew that the theater was a place I belonged.

During middle school my experience in theater shifted dramatically. My drama teacher didn’t like me at all and certainly wasn’t afraid to show it. I was cast in basically the same part both years, in the musicals “The Music Man” and “Bye, Bye, Birdie” and was constantly placed in the back of scenes. After being yelled at continuously by my teacher/director, I didn’t know if all this work was worth it. But my friends pulled me through: whenever I considered quitting they would cheer me up and keep me motivated. With their help, I resolved to continue in theater no matter who told me I was weak.

I gained confidence last year when I beat out over 50 people for a spot in then-senior Hannah Copeland’s Frequent Friday “The Allegory of Suzie Moore and Jeremy Layte.” After being cast in only one of the eight Frequent Fridays and being hated by my teacher in middle school I was ready to quit theater — then “The Allegory” came into my life. Hannah’s directorial skills were like nothing I had seen in the past seven years, and she is the reason my passion for theater was rekindled.

During the first week of rehearsal, Hannah showed up sniffling and with red eyes. Even though it had only been one week, we were all worried about her and asked what was wrong. She burst into tears as she told us about a recent breakup. That day we became family. We worked together, we played together, and we were always there for each other. If someone messed with one cast member, they messed with them all.

Over the next few months, we grew closer through games of Pass the Clap and viewing parties of “Finding Nemo,” where we made connections between our show and “Nemo.” It felt like the “Wizard of Wonderland” all over again, except this time the friendships wouldn’t end after the show did.

After months of preparation, we performed our show twice, a rarity in Frequent Friday history. Once it was over I found myself again not knowing what to do.

But this time it was different. This time I had friendships that would last, I had memories that were permanent and inside jokes that would never get old. Any time I hear the word ‘bow-tie’ I laugh, even after one year, every time I see my ex-cast-mates I say “hi,” or repeat one of the lines that became an inside joke. I still keep in touch with the eight seniors involved in the show and I have become better friends with those still in school.

My first acting experiences led me to continue in acting and search for friendships, but after middle school I wasn’t so sure it was for me. “The Allegory” reminded me that theater isn’t about the performances or praise, it’s about the relationships formed backstage, the laughs had and the tears shed. When you get right down to it, why else would you spend months preparing for a show that would only be performed once?