The summer of changing plans continues - if last year was all about the art of the possible when it came to my Ennotville shows, this year it's all about the art of the limitations.
I know, I promised myself (and you) that from now on I was making theatre without limits. And I tried. But the thing about limits is that they're not all self-imposed. There are physical, structural, mathematical barriers in place that inhibit my ability to make limitless theatre.
So therefore, it is with a very heavy heart that I've been forced to cancel the second week of shows this summer at the Library, because I simply don't have the time, the money, or the actors that I need in order to pull it off.
My first week of shows remains unaffected - in fact rehearsals are going great...
...even if some of the plays are coming into focus a little better than others... but as much as I wanted to do the second week of shows there's just no way that I can make them happen. I had attempted to find some other options - I even crowd-sourced some very good suggestions from the readers of this blog - but no viable solution emerged as the clock wound down.
So once again my Ennotville experience has been the sharpest of a double-edge sword, giving me the great pleasure of rehearsing the shows that I do have, but denying me half of the experience that I'd been looking forward to for months. Tragicomedy? Perhaps. Bittersweet? Most definitely.
I know that I'm not alone in this - every day my social media feed is filled with companies begging for actors, trying to fill major roles in their post-pandemic comeback extravaganzas, at all levels of the industry, from amateur to professional. But it still sucks. I really wanted to do those plays.
Fortunately the preparations for my Fringe show are still going well - buy your tickets
here. In fact, this kind of heartbreak is exactly the sort of thing I talk about quite a bit in the show, except that I do it in a more humourous manner than I am right now. Right now, I am in no mood to laugh about cancelling half of this year's Ennotville shows - but I will be one day. One day I will look back on this summer and I will laugh. Laugh at the cocky self-assurance of my blog posts. Laugh at my chasing after actors who never returned a message. Laugh at not writing plays overflowing with roles for middle-aged women.
I will laugh at all of that, and more, I'm sure. One day. Tonight though, I will cry, and take the time to mourn the loss of what could have been. I will mourn the loss of the thrill of watching an idea from inside my head come to life. I will mourn the loss of forging deep and lasting creative bonds with people I would never otherwise have the chance to get to know on such an intimate level. I will mourn the steps that I could not take on my journey to find the answers to the questions that keep me up at night.
To invert a phrase from an old Broadway musical (which one I don't remember - please tell me in the comments if you recognize it):
"Comedy tomorrow, tragedy tonight!"
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