The Show Must Go On Without Me

You just don't quit a theatrical production no matter how awful it gets. The show must go on. But here I was, struggling with that.

I was in the chorus for Carmen. I'd done other operas but Carmen was always my dream. It's not about kings and queens and noble sons; it's about a gypsy girl who seduces Don José, a Spanish soldier, and leads him to ruin. And it has the Toreador Song, which my dad used to sing a parody of ("Oh Leonora, don't spit on the floor-a, use the cuspidor-a, that's-a what it's for-a").

The chorus gets to contribute to these famous arias, too! For the Habanera (sung by Carmen) we interject "Regardez à tous" (watch yourself!). In the Toreador Song, we sing:

Toréador en garde,

Toréador, toréador

En combattant songe qu'un oeil noir te regarde

Et que l'amour t'attend,

Toréador, l'amour, l'amour t'attend!

What could be more fun than being a part of that?

I'd been in La Traviata twice, and Verdi's music never gets old no matter how many times you hear it. I was in Tales of Hoffman where the chorus had an orgy onstage (well, a theatrical orgy!). It used to be thrilling.

But for Carmen, I could think of lots of things more fun. Having a root canal, for one thing. I should have kept it a dream. Rehearsals were a nightmare. Let this be a lesson: what you see on the stage is meant to be beautiful and fun for you, but it's not, necessarily, for the people up there.

There are a zillion scenes for the chorus in that opera. It has children, and children need adult minders at all rehearsals, so there were a lot of people in the room. No one was getting paid except the principals. It was a social event! To us, anyway. Not to Michael, the Director, who was constantly irritable.

Michael was my voice teacher, and I'd been in several operas with him. I was beginning to think he was stringing me along as to how good I actually was. Of course any music teacher has to deal with students who just aren't very good, and giving them false encouragement is part of the job. No teacher is going to say, "You know what? You suck."

I got into singing late in life; "late" meaning "in my 40's and 50's." Amazingly, I was not terrible. Who knew? I'd never even tried to sing before that. Even better: I was a tenor. The singing world is crowded with women but men are at a premium. And most men are baritones, not tenors.

So how good a singer was I, really? Not good enough to get a role where the character has a name, but good enough to sing in the chorus for two local opera companies, and a Gilbert & Sullivan company. I didn't get paid, but my fantasies of being on stage were finally realized! I owned a pair of "character shoes" which are black and inconspicuous; after all, you can't go on stage in Reeboks. But the thrill had started to wear off. Endless hours memorizing my part, being ordered around, and treated like cattle.

Lots of us have dreams about a different life than the mundane, boring one we have. They coulda been a baseball player, cook, actor, or fashion designer, yet here they are, writing code.

So why not try those other things, if you still can? I'm lucky to be able to try a few of them, like theater, but let's emphasize the "try." You can keep your day job. Unfortunately most of the worlds we dream about do involve petty little dictators who enjoy dishing out abuse to their hapless young minions, who can only say "Yes, Chef." Just watch "Hell's Kitchen."

Michael was continually pissed off. Whenever he yelled "cut" we'd start talking among ourselves, something professionals would not do. Pros know to be quiet and listen to the Director's notes, but we were amateurs. His "Quiet!" yells got more and more angry. Rehearsals are strictly limited, so having to yell at everyone just wastes precious time. How would we ever learn to move like peasants in Spain, not Silicon Valley folks in costumes? Originally, rehearsals like this were new and exciting for me, but now they were getting old and irritating.

I had gotten a sinus infection during rehearsals. It seemed like this always happened to me before a show, and singers do get used to singing with a respiratory infection. But this was much worse than the usual allergies. I had violent coughing fits, fortunately never in the middle of a scene. Yet.

On top of that, my 21-year old cat died. It was a very bad time for me. Then two things pushed me over the edge.

In Act 1 of Carmen, there's a scene where the cigarette factory lets out and the women workers smoke, sing, and meet the men, who are hanging around waiting for them. It's intended to be a sexy scene in a sexy opera. Even seeing women smoke cigarettes was shocking in Bizet's France.

One of the women, a friend from other shows, and I got into that "sexy" thing a little bit much. In all honestly, I think it's fun for the audience, too. It was certainly fun for us.

At Director's Notes, Michael said, in front of everyone, "Elaine, you really made Bob's night last night!" The cast tittered a little. He moved on. I was shocked, but this was one of those times when you only think of the right comeback afterwards: "Nah, I've had better!" or even "So you felt jealous, Michael?" would have brought the house down.

But I didn't think of those. I thought him saying this in front of everyone was humiliating. When I emailed him about it, he gave the classic non-apology apology: "I'm sorry if you were offended."

But the show must go on! Quitting in the middle out of spite is just something you never, ever do. We got through the first weekend's shows.

My sinus infection got worse and worse. Eventually, I had an allergy test which showed that that wasn't the problem. Much later, the doctor prescribed Prednisone. This was not just a cold.

The week between shows was one of the worst in my life. I'd have coughing fits at random times that would have people staring at me and edging away. I had to be honest with myself: did I want to quit because I hated it, or because I didn't want to ruin a show with a coughing fit on stage?

Well, the spite certainly didn't hurt, but the medical reason was enough, so I taught one of the other chorus members my moves so he could take over, and quit. It was not as traumatic as I thought it would be. I didn't even talk to Michael.

I've never sung again. Performing on stage was a dream, and I woke up.