Holy Cross Stage Debut Opens to Rave Reviews!

It is Saturday, and I have been on the island since Tuesday evening. Unbelievably, this is the first time I have had a window of time to write!

Between grading, packing, flying to Belize City and riding a boat, I literally face planted it into my bed at The Tides upon arrival.  I am too old to not sleep for 40 hours.  Wednesday morning I wasted no time in getting over to Holy Cross and see my kids.  Ok, I will admit it, there is nothing like the rush of love that happens when I walk onto the school ground. Then, when I entered Standard 4 – the classes that have been working on their plays since January – I was physically enveloped with hugs.  There was no time to waste; we had a play to polish.  Yes, there were to be 2 plays, but one of the classes had some difficulty so the teacher decided to withdraw.  I was a bit disappointed, but now we can directly focus on our production of Where the Wild Things Are.

I went back and retrieved the costumes that I had brought with me.  Here’s a known theatre fact…it doesn’t matter if the students are 12 or 21, when they first get their costumes, they all become a bit crazed and revert to about the age of 5.  There is no fighting it – just take a deep breath, stand back and let them emote.

We practiced until school got out, and then I was off to work on the costume’s final touches back at the hotel.  Thank the Lord for glue guns!  Also, thank goodness HC had one with extra sticks. By the end of the night, my room was littered in fabric scraps and ribbon.

The class was going to meet me at the high school auditorium at 9ish.  Since it is directly next door, I assumed I could roll out of bed at 8:30 and still beat them there.  Wrong. At approximately 8:20, I heard voices downstairs by the pool, by 8:25, they were chanting, “Ms. Kim, Ms. Kim, Ms. Kim.”  At 8:30, Ms. James was at my door. Holy Cow, they meant business.

Unfortunately, the auditorium was in use, so they had to walk back to the Holy Cross. I had a few things to pick up and by the time I got back to the school for our final rehearsals, Ms. James had been pushed to her last nerve.  The kids were sitting on the back porch of the school. Ms. James walked by me and said, “I am not doing this anymore.”  I asked the kids what happened, and they all spoke at the same time, each with a different story. This was exactly the problem.  Evidently, one girl was so awful, she had already been sent to Principal Grace, and Ms. James had told the rest that she was, “going to cut their tongues out.”  She also declared that she was no longer attending the festival.

I took off my directing cape and put on my counseling crown.  Poor, dear Ms. James was sitting in her classroom with tears streaming down her cheeks; plus, she was mad as hell. This woman is a tough cookie and the best teacher in the school -  they really did it this time.  In reality, we all want the same thing… to be heard and respected.  I assured her that all plays come together like this.

 I used my “theatre is birth” extended metaphor.  When the play begins, it is like one finds out they are expecting.  There is excited anticipation and delusions of grandeur. Somewhere in the middle of the gestation, things switch. It all becomes daunting; people get irritable, and it seems like it is never going to end. As the due date approaches, it is a mixed bag of emotions with fear looming in the back of the brain and heart. Then there the moment of delivery – this chaos includes mandatory screaming, a few tears, and even nasty words blurted in the heat of the moment. But in the end, the play opens and the baby is born. The most amazing part; however, is the amnesia that immediately replaces all the previous emotions. As mothers we forget the pain, and as theatre people we forget the long nights, brutal rehearsals, and the irritating qualities of our cast mates. Also, with each child and play, our hearts grown more open.  It is like a long, refreshing drink of pride, joy and love.  It is this amnesia and euphoria that are responsible for families with more than just one child and the multiple performances that those of us in the theatre have on our resumes.

She wasn’t buying it. She was sad and pissed and just needed time away from these “wild things.” I went back to the kids and told them that they had succeeded in making their beloved teacher cry. You should have seen their eyes.  Ms. James is a battle ax, and the thought that they made her crack unsettled them.  It was the best thing that could have happened to the rest of our rehearsal time.  They focused and worked. We polished dances; we worked on projection; we solidified staging; we sang like fools!  When Ms. James came back 90 minutes later, she had her war face on. Even I was a nervous as the kids did their final run-through. Miss James sat stoically. She then turned around to me and whispered, “It was perfect.”  The students were dismissed and told to congregate at my hotel at 4:00, as the festival was to begin at 4:30.

At 4:20 there was no Ms. James.  I began to think she was really serious with her boycott. However at 4:30, she came all dressed up and ready for a show. This brings me to the topic of Belizean Time.  Now, I know anyone reading this is thinking, “Really Kim?  You, of all people, are going to complain about things not starting on time or people not showing up on time?”  I want to assure you that I am not complaining – just informing my general public – that when a Belizean event is scheduled to begin at 4:30, 6 pm is probably more of a reality. Even this morning, my neighbor was supposed to begin his snorkeling lesson at 9.  The instructor showed up at 11.  

Back to the Festival of the Arts.  Every school from the island was included in the program. We were to perform 6^th out of 22 acts.  They did great!  The only real snafus came with the narrator (who lost her place for 2 huge pregnant pauses),  and only one microphone worked, so they had to pass it from character to character.  They danced the wild rumpus the best they ever had.  It was fun, colorful and they were beaming.  I wish I could have captured their faces when they heard the audience’s applause, but I was too busy with a standing ovation.

I know I am biased, but it was the most creative entry of the evening. They were the only play.  All the rest were dances and solos.  In the end, we received a silver.  Of course, I am disgusted that the kids are being adjudicated in the first place. Also, the middle judge did not even look up.  Who were these three experts? What were their qualifications? Of course, I do not share any of these thoughts with the students.  When they asked me how they did, I replied, “It was exactly the way I pictured it!  I loved it; you are all brave and talented stars!”

The next day, I brought a cake and juice to class for a little cast party.  Of course, there was some Monday morning quarterbacking, but they were still all reeling in post-performance ecstasy. I knew the project was a success because our toughest critic, Ms. James gave me a hug when I leaving and said, “So what do you think we should do next year?”