Opening Night | Teen Ink

Opening Night MAG

April 12, 2008
By Anonymous

“Places in 15, curtain in 20, please!” calls a stage manager. My reply mingles with the other actors’ as we chorus the customary “Thank you.” It’s a silly ritual, really, thanking the stage manager for each time check. Why should we thank the person who brings the bad news that we have only fifteen-ten-five-zero minutes to get into costume and makeup? But actors always do.

Nervous and needing something to do, I had fixed my hair before I left my house. It’s supposed to be casual, worn the way it would be on a normal day. But I had carefully washed and dried it anyway, because the last thing I need on opening night is frizz. To start my pre-show ritual, and avoid feeling as though I have forgotten something, I run a comb through my curls and apply a touch of watered-down gel.

At the sink beside the makeup counter, I wash my face, removing any sweat from my walk to the theater. My face shines, and the skin of my forehead and cheeks feels thin as it contracts upon contact with the air, but this is the best way to begin applying makeup.

“Places in 10, curtain in 15, please!”

“Thank you.” I spread foundation onto a plastic palette, and dip my foam brush into the puddle. I blot it and then start to spread it over the bruise-blue crescents under my eyes, the uneven surface of my forehead, and the shine of the overhead lights on my nose.

I close my eyes, then blink into focus to study the face staring back from the mirror. It isn’t me anymore – instead it’s a nondescript blank-slate of a face that could be anybody. A little dark foundation under the eyes and through the cheeks, and it would become a hollow-eyed, shifty stranger. Quick swipes of highlighting makeup in just the right places, maybe with rosy ­­eye-shadow, and an innocent child would be staring back at me.

But tonight I need only enough to make my features visible to the audience – a little highlight, shadow, and blush. Once blended and powdered, I am just another face. Perfect.

“Places in five, curtain in 10, please!”

I thank the stage manager and close my dressing room door. I step out of my jeans and button-down shirt, and take a moment to look at my costume for the first act hanging on the rack. It is opening night for this painstakingly constructed costume too, and if reviews are unfavorable and the show’s funding is pulled, it will be all over for this costume and for me.

My character and my costume are inextricably mixed. With every zipper I pull and every button I fasten, who I am disappears, and my character grips me tighter and tighter. The person I have read about, memorized lines for, and practiced being, is now in the flesh for the very first time.

“Places now, curtain in five!”

“Thank you.” I leave my dressing room, cross the hallway, and grasp the handle of the stage-left door. I take a moment to breathe. For these final few seconds, I am just a person, just another resident of a city of millions. Then I open the door to an eyeful of blacklight, the scent of cedar, and an unmistakable adrenaline rush. Thirty-thousand watts of stage light beckons me from beyond two rows of curtains. I part the back curtains with confident hands, so unlike those that ­unlocked my dressing room just an hour ago, and stride to center stage. The lights ­caress my skin, my makeup, my costume, my character.

“Curtain!” someone hisses backstage, and after an ­initial jerk, the front curtains part smoothly.

They said backstage that tonight’s was a good audience. But right now, as the curtain stills in the wings and the audience exhales the breath they had held during the pre-curtain darkness, they’re just as vulnerable as I am. Their emotions are shoved aside and their minds are open to whatever I want to throw at them.

It doesn’t matter what the stagehands said about them. It doesn’t matter that some of them walked into the ­theater angry or frustrated, hating their date, or harboring poor expectations for the show. It doesn’t matter that 15 minutes ago I was a struggling actress with college applications looming. Right now there’s only me, the ­audience, and three hours in which to leave life behind. I deliver my first line, bask in my first laugh, and watch tears shine in the audience’s eyes. Everyone needs an ­escape, and I’m here to give it to them.

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This article has 15 comments.

rroland GOLD said...
on Jul. 29 2012 at 9:57 am
rroland GOLD, Cazenovia, New York
12 articles 0 photos 20 comments

Favorite Quote:
We except the love we think we deserve

really good i am an actress too. and i reacently had a preformance that i was lead in. i also put my makeup on 5 minuets before places not that it was on time. lol :p i hope it went well

rroland GOLD said...
on Jul. 29 2012 at 9:57 am
rroland GOLD, Cazenovia, New York
12 articles 0 photos 20 comments

Favorite Quote:
We except the love we think we deserve

really good i am an actress too. and i reacently had a preformance that i was lead in. i also put my makeup on 5 minuets before places not that it was on time. lol :p i hope it went well

YoungActress said...
on Jun. 15 2012 at 8:20 pm
YoungActress, Hillsboro, Oregon
0 articles 0 photos 4 comments
You did a great job of capturing the feelings that lots of performers go through. I really enjoyed the comments about the stage manager (I totally agree!). I have only one question, were you actually just starting to put on your makeup five minutes til curtain!?!

on Jul. 7 2011 at 8:59 pm
Autumn-Rain SILVER, West Lafayette, Indiana
9 articles 1 photo 74 comments
I loved it! felt liek I was there... you are such a good writer... keep it up!

on Jul. 2 2011 at 4:09 am
AyeshaMuzaffar BRONZE, Lahore, Other
4 articles 0 photos 98 comments
I really liked your article. you sticked to reality.

on Jun. 29 2011 at 3:36 pm
Katsmile2012 SILVER, Independence, California
6 articles 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Stand up straight: People will think you know what you're doing, and soon you will too!"-A close Friend

It felt so real that

chills ran up and down my back

thank you for writing

Hover BRONZE said...
on Mar. 11 2011 at 3:12 pm
Hover BRONZE, Mukwonago, Wisconsin
2 articles 0 photos 85 comments

Favorite Quote:
Sophistication isn't what you wear or who you know
Or pushing people down to get you where you wanna go
They didn't teach you that in prep school, so it's up to me,
But no amount of vintage dresses gives you dignity.
~Taylor Swift
*Defy Gravity!*

I really enjoyed reading this because I love acting too! You really captured the feeling. And, yes, I thank the stage manager too! :) Good job.

Elliebellie said...
on Apr. 15 2010 at 9:39 pm

on Dec. 29 2009 at 5:47 pm
sillyaardvarkabc BRONZE, Riverside, Connecticut
4 articles 0 photos 63 comments
I'm an actress- budding :)- and this is how i feel when I'm getting ready too!

on Mar. 15 2009 at 3:58 am

true insight to what

we as performers experience.

great sensory.

thank you for submitting this!

Scarlette said...
on Oct. 8 2008 at 11:58 pm
This was beautiful, smooth all the way through. It gives an inside look at an actor's emotions for an audience member like myself. A brilliant work.

on Oct. 1 2008 at 8:19 pm
It is very good writing. I liked the suspense in it.

Amber W said...
on Sep. 28 2008 at 1:59 pm
I love this article. I really enjoyed reading it -- it wasn't cumbersome at all, and I wasn’t turned into an “editor” as I read it. What you said about the audience being vulnerable, I think, is brilliant. I’ve never thought of it like that before and I think you’re exactly right. And your last line is perfect.

Letticia said...
on Sep. 20 2008 at 3:43 pm
I really like theater, you did a good job

Dictionary said...
on Sep. 12 2008 at 12:22 am
very good