Good Grief, John Boy - Part Three

First I said, "No thank you, Boomie," because of my job schedule, the commute, and the time drain. She said we could work around my schedule and that the theatre was only 35 minutes away from Charlottesville, not like the hour plus drive the last time we did a Hamner work. Plus, it was in the second act, and I could arrive after the play started, so I could still take late (just no closing) shifts. She said it was a small scene that wouldn't need much rehearsal at all. She was confident that I could handle the part. After that, she would need me at least once during Tech Week and then for all the performances, and the show would only run for two weeks.

Then I said, "No thank you, Boomie," because my car had been having trouble. There was this screeching sound coming from the breaks and I didn't feel comfortable taking it out on the highway. It would be a week before my dealership appointment came up. She said the man playing Clay Sr. lived in Charlottesville, and she was sure I could get a ride with him.

Then I said, "No thank you, Boomie," because I just didn't feel up to it. In fact I didn't feel up to anything these days except working and coming home. I kept thinking about all the things I could have been or should have been doing but could find no interest. She said it sounded like I was depressed. I said oh no; that wasn't depression. She asked what it was then, and I said that depression was a general malaise and a fundamental lack of motivation. "Well," said Boomie, "it's a good thing that's not you."

So I agreed to read the script.

And Boom was right. It was a small scene about halfway through the second act, maybe four to five pages of dialogue, no long speeches. Clay Boy barges in to Christmast Eve church service because everyone has told him there's a poker game and his father might be there, Dooley sings a verse of "Oh Holy Night", they chat about Clay Sr. and his hidden good works, they leave. Thanks very much. See you at curtain call.

So then I said, "No thank you, Boomie." She was right about the scene; and, as a director, I felt for her being over a barrell to find someone; and, as a friend, I wanted to be able to offer help when she asked for it ... but it just wasn't me. I don't believe in Christmas. I don't think we can really know if there's a God, but I'm pretty sure there isn't. Plus the part's a "rural Black man with gravitas" part and I've never felt successful pulling that part off. I always want them to have deep or husky voices, and I don't have a deep or husky voice. Plus I can't do rural Black accents for shit. I'm suburban. I'm small college town. She said that first off she didn't see it as a Christmas play or a Christian play. For her it was about Clay Boy discovering that a lot of his assumptions are wrong. Second, what did the part not being like me have to do with it? "That's why they call it 'acting', Clinton. Part of the fun and challenge is slipping yourself into someone that isn't you."

After that, the conversation fell into general bullshit: consider me as a last resort/I have a couple other people I could read -- and the next week I walked into my first rehearsal. I'd said yes because I'd sincerely wanted to help out my friend, and the project didn't seem like it would take much effort or time. And though I wasn't gung ho about it, I went in with the best of intentions. Of course you know the path that those are reputed to line, right?