Three smiling theatergoers sit in row seats for a group photo, with others in the audience behind them.

The Postscript

Partial view

Carrie Classon

Igo to the theater every chance I get.

In an earlier life, I worked in the theater, and unlike some actors and technicians I know who spent years working in the theater and now never want to see another show, I love to go, and I always leave the theater in a wonderful mood.

I especially love Broadway tours, and I can’t tell you why. I never did musicals when I was in theater, and I don’t even know most of them well. But when tickets go on sale, I pounce on the cheap seats in the front row on the end – the ones that are called “partial view.”

I’ve decided they are called that not because I can’t see everything, sitting way off to the side and way in front, but because I see more than I am supposed to. I get a “partial view” of life backstage, and I love it.

I see the actors just before they enter from the other side. I watched the actor attach the puppets to his arms in “Peter Pan.” I see the scenery getting rolled off – usually with the help of stagehands standing just behind the curtain, maneuvering around narrow corners with a grace and speed that astonishes me. I love to see all the things I am not supposed to see off to the side.

And I love all the things I see up close as well.

Being up close and off to the side means that if the musicians are playing in the pit, I can just lean over and see at least some of them. The conductor is always in sight. Before the show and during intermission, I peek down and see how many instruments the percussionist is expected to play and am always impressed. I see how few people are required to make so much music and am amazed.

Up close, I notice how the microphones are attached to the actors’ heads and marvel that they can change costumes and even hats and hairpieces and manage to keep a mic in place. The stage is high, so I am right at shoe level. The shoes in musicals are amazing. Tap shoes and dance shoes and shoes covered in sequins. One show had heels that were actually small disco balls. I cannot imagine that audience members even a few rows back would be able to see the perfect spheres covered in reflective glass, but those heels were mere feet from my face, and it was thrilling.

And sitting up close, I see the faces of the actors in perfect clarity. I never acted on stages as large as the one they are on. I never had that kind of success. I watch them and feel privileged to see people doing something that is so hard, something they love so much.

Touring is grueling. They do many shows in a week and then everything gets packed up and hauled off to another city for the same schedule. They are away from home for long periods of time. Their time off is spent in a strange city. I know that most of these touring actors are fairly young, and most will not do it for long. I know they must get exhausted, and I’m sure there is much about touring life that is not fun. It is such incredibly hard work.

But I go to the theater to spend two hours watching these actors who are so fully and completely alive, and it fills me with joy – even if I only have a partial view.

Till next time,

Carrie

Carrie Classon

is a nationally syndicated columnist, author, and performer. She champions the idea that it is never too late to reinvent oneself in unexpected and fulfilling ways. Learn more about Carrie and her memoir, “Blue Yarn,” at CarrieClasson.com.

Verified by MonsterInsights