At the age of 57 I am approaching what is likely the final seven years of teaching. Apart from the whole mortality thing, it is hard to believe that I need to begin accumulating the final seven productions of my high school career. Since I started teaching, I always had this special pile on my shelf – normally by the peanut butter and trail mix – where I would keep a pile of plays that, as I read – I thought – well, that’s one I should be considering for the future. The play was PG enough, didn’t focus on characters too far out of range for the high school actors, and fired up my spirits. I have always though that if I understood a play on its first reading, then why would I want to spend 8 weeks whittling away at it in the blackbox. AND if it DIDN’T get it in the first reading – then it is either not a good play, or this is one that I should certainly put on my list to tackle. If the script felt like television – then NO – why waste using the world of theatre on something that was meant to play out in another form. Why would you ever want to get up all dressed and trek to a theatre just to watch something that should be enjoyed on the couch in your pajamas? That doesn’t make sense.
How to choose? If I choose this – am I really not going to not do this? What about those plays – like Godot – that I have always so admired but never felt competent enough tackle? If not now, when?
I wish I had an answer to the Final Seven. I guess it best to wait until the end of the jurors – the end of the year showing for all four levels of acting classes – and see if the answer is in those young faces. All that I know is that my final senior class is now on the playground of their fifth grade – – little do they know – – and even less do I know what awaits them.