Page 106 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

When I get stuck, I somehow always seem to get help from the most unexpected—and most qualified—person in the room.

Arthur.

And he helps in the quietest, most unassuming way.

Once, last week, Connie was really struggling in one of her scenes. I don’t like to do line readings—I feel like they can insult an actor, taking away their ability to do their job—but after five straight minutes of conversingaboutthe scene, Connie still wasn’t getting it. I even tried using examples from movies or TV shows, hoping she could mimic them, but it was still so robotic.

“Why don’t we take a minute and we’ll come back and tackle it again?” I’d said, backing away from the stage because, honestly, I didn’t know what else to try to get through to her.

Arthur casually walked over and sat down in the row behind me. “What are you trying to get out of her?”

I frowned. “She’s playing the character too stiff. Too serious. I wanted the fairy godmother to feel like a cozy, quirky grandma.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, thoughtfully, he simply said, “Ask her how she is around her grandkids.”

I actuallysawthe light bulb over my own head. Here I was, a supposed actor who has been taught to draw on my own life experiences to connect with a role, and I didn’t even think of it.

It worked. Easily. She changed in an instant.

I turned toward where he was sitting to give him all the credit, but he was gone.

It seems that underneath the grouchy exterior, there’s still the heart of a teacher.

One thing Arthur doesn’t save me from, though, is Belinda.

She seems to live for every opportunity to make this whole process as difficult as possible. It’s challenging to have one person in the cast who seems intent on ruining the show for everyone else, and I know this is something I have to handle. I’m just not sure how.

Anytime I offer a thought or give her any direction, Belinda responds with either an excuse or an inane reason why she didn’t do it that way in the first place, or why she simplycan’tdo whatever I suggest. It’s been going on for several weeks, and now, halfway through the process, I see it’s affecting the others.

Evelyn and Sadie both questioned my blocking today in front of the rest of the cast, and I can feel the overall vibe of the show shifting.

One evening, I’m packing up my things when I notice Arthurstanding nearby. There are a few volunteers painting sets in the scene shop, but everyone else has gone.

“Sorry, I’m hurrying.”

He makes a grunting noise and waves a hand in the air. “It’s fine.”

I frown, and then I remember that usually, after rehearsal, Arthur makes himself scarce. It’s almost like three hours is too muchpeoplingand he needs to get away from everyone.

So, I reason, if he’s standing out here while I’m packing up...

“How did you think it went today?” I offer, hoping to open the lines of communication.

“It’s your show,” he says, shrugging. “How doyouthink it went?”

I’m inclined to steel my jaw and snark back some comment, but I resist. Because the longer I stand here, the more certain I am that he has something to say.

I know that Arthur has a lot of knowledge and experience locked up in that head of his. In addition to teaching at NYU for years, Arthur has directed at least thirty professional shows. He’s script-doctored more than a dozen. His name appears in various roles—director, producer, designer, consultant—on more shows than I can count.

I’m assuming they offered him this position at Sunset Hills ages ago, and I’m also assuming he turned it down. Oddly, I don’t think he turned it down because he thinks it’s beneath him, even though an argument could be made that it is. I think there’s another reason.

I just don’t know what it is.

The mystery remains.

“If it were your show, how would you feel about it?” I ask, wanting honesty, not flattery.

---