In my last blog, Got To Be Good Looking Cause I’m So Hard To See, I told the story of how my director flipped out when I sang the Beatles’ Come Together. So I went into the first rehearsal for Fiddler a little more confident than normal. I walked in, sat down, and he pretty much ignored me.

We sang four songs. I sang softly, since I’m not terribly confident (just more confident than before). I was trying to figure out where I fit in the score.

You see, I tend to sing high, but I should sing low, but I hear higher pitches better than lower pitches. It’s all rather complicated and confusing, but essentially, I hear higher pitches than I should be singing. All this boils down to is: I shouldn’t sing.

Anyway, I tried to fit in as best I could, but I couldn’t hear myself over everyone else, nor could I pick out a single voice near me to compare my pitches. I know a few people around me were in my range, and I was trying to match their pitches. Unfortunately, I kept going high because that’s what I could hear.

I basically sang falsetto all night. Not good.

So I go up to ET after rehearsal.

“Hey,” I say.

“What can I do for ya?” he asks.

“Where do you want me to sing? High? Low? Middle?”

“Whatever.” He smiled and turned around to talk to someone else.

Oh. That helped. Thanks.

“Hang on!” I called out. I stepped down from the risers and approached the woman playing the character of Zoe. The other two characters were Adam and Carver. We were only a few days into rehearsal, but the five or six times we’d run this particular scene, Zoe had delivered a line in a way that left me cringing inside. It wasn’t necessarily the wrong read on the line, it was more like she was missing something. Hopefully, I could clarify.

“Hang on a sec, Zoe,” I repeated. “Let me ask you a question. How do you feel about eating junk food all the time, watching movies where everything explodes, and listening to music that cracks your skull open?” She looked at me for a second.

“What?” she asked, a little confused. The character of Zoe is an interesting one. She’s sleeping with one of her students, Raphael. Adam, who is deeply and madly in love with Zoe, isn’t too happy about this. Carver is appalled.

“How do you feel about doing that stuff?” She rolled her eyes at me.

“Are you some kind of shrink?”

I continued. “Who are you doing these activities with?”

“Raphael,” she answered, with a “duhh” look on her face. I raised my eyebrows. She stared back. Her face changed in the space of a heartbeat. “Ohhhhhhhh,” she said. “I see.”

“Good. Let’s try that again.”

She delivered the line perfectly. Adam followed up with another line. The scene continued, and I relaxed. I settled back into my nice, comfy director’s chair and watched the scene unfold. So far, so good.

A minute later, I jumped up again.

“Hold it!” I cried. “I know I have you blocked over here, Adam, but it’s not working. Something isn’t working. How about instead of just holding her hand, you stand up and… ah, shit, that’s not going to work either.”

“I think he should scoot the chair around and put an arm around me,” Zoe blurted out. I looked at her for a second. I nodded.

“Good idea, Zoe.”

I have to be careful sometimes. Like all theatre people, I have a big ego. It is precisely that ego that makes us good — it makes us want to be in the spotlight, the center of attention, the grand fromage. But it’s not always a good thing. Sometimes professionalism comes into play.

The woman playing Zoe is an excellent actress. She wants to be a director, too. I get the feeling sometimes she thinks she knows better ways to do things, but then, I always thought that when I was being directed by someone else. In that light, I try to always stay open to suggestions, but in the end, I’m the director and she’s not.

For the sake of the show, I have to put my ego aside and think of what the best action is in any given situation. Sometimes I agree with people’s suggestions, sometimes I don’t. I will gladly say that she does a very good job of accepting and following direction, even if it isn’t the way she would have done it. Zoe is a true professional.

In fact, Adam and Carver are true professionals as well. The three of them have worked their asses off every day trying to memorize 98 pages of lines in a little less than four weeks. So far, so good.

Once again, I backed up the scene a little bit and said, “Go.” The scene unfolded again. Many times this night I stopped them and gave direction and ran the scenes again.

Towards the end of this rehearsal, I let my mind drift back to my earlier thoughts regarding Zoe. Professionalism is one of the qualities I most highly prize in actors and directors. Or anyone I work with, for that matter. The ability to contain one’s ego for the sake of the greater good, to accept criticism for what it’s worth, to follow instructions without undue argument is highly desirable and even necessary for actors, directors, and technicians if the show is to succeed.

I thought to myself as the scene wound down: So far, so good.