Treading The Boards

‘Treading the Boards’

Although all was quiet backstage and there were only a couple of minutes till opening, time seemed to have transcended any medium capable of restricting it to its logical seconds, minutes and hours. The place in itself was a living, breathing thing - a complex maze of various stage components that were vital to each performance's seamless production. My on-stage father stood by my side in the dimly lit wings, staring blankly forward into the wooden boards, no doubt lost in his own world of lines, actions, and hope for future roles after this run had ended. He asked me a question which, undeniably, I had only one answer for.

"Well, mate - you ready?"

"I have to be".

Dense warmth clung to the narrow, black-walled backstage corridors of the Opera House's Drama Theatre, as I paced back and forth between the Stage Manager's booth and centre stage's side curtain, intertwining and dodging with dark figures, like swarming ants, all busily preparing for the opening act.

I had spent what had seemed like years rehearsing on the very stage I was about to perform on, and now,  as the dull murmur of a full house settled into silence, the sound of my own rapidly beating heart thundered  in my ears.  The thought of performing in itself had always drawn to me, presumably because it had seemed like becoming a character's live entity had seemed like an intriguing profession, ever since watching the countless TV and movie programs that were shown to me when I was younger, by my ever-supportive parents. Leading up to tonight's show, my subconscious caused me to accumulate a hundred and one questions which involuntarily decided to drown me on my way to Stage Door this evening.  

Will I forget my lines?

The audience might not like my performance?

Will my parents be happy with this?

Is acting really for me?

I found it amazing, and frustrating, that I had fallen into my own psychological battle between nerves and excitement - I was never once capable of feeling calm, the excitement of the unknown triggering an ever-present energy that made my whole body tremble with anticipation. Lord knows why my parents saw so much faith in me, but ever since they enrolled me with the local talent agency I had attempted to perform each and every script to the very best of my ability at each and every audition - and now, it was paying off.

The play in itself was a fast-paced musical rendition, a 'play with songs' written by Matt Cameron - composed by Tim Finn - the visceral and captivating script supposedly written to stimulate an 'emotional awakening' for the audience, something I was experiencing before the play had even begun.  

The first act hadn't even started yet, and I was already experiencing the thrill of being about to 'Tread the Boards' for the first time in my life - to walk in the footsteps of countless iconic actors and actresses before me. I had never landed a theatre role before, although at every audition I knew there was something special about the art of live performance. Each time I hoped, and rejection hurt - I was often left devastated and questioning my own ability to be one of the future best.

Already Theatre had taught me something I had never known: there are no second chances - this was it. The director, the audience, my parents, everyone who had supported me, everything came down to this, everything came down to that first rhetorical question I would pose to the audience, beginning a three act sequence that would appear in the headlines tomorrow.

The stage manager turned to me, hand raised, poised, like a conductor's baton ready to swoop and begin the powerful orchestra that was the theatre ensemble.

"Remember, if anyone calls out in the audience, ignore it. Hans Is telling me down the line to play around with it if anyone responds to you at the start, but I doubt it. Emily will be in the audience - third row from the front, she'll try and answer nice and quick."

"Sure."

"Besides, it's opening night, that hardly ever happens", she said with a warm smile.

Hans, our director, was with no doubt watching from the back row, as was his trademark in every performance he composed. He would be eager to see how a young actor handled his first opening night in front of a prestigious crowd.

"You're good to go Nick".

I stepped out into the dazzling lights of the stage. My footsteps echoed and cracked around the silent theatre, the beautiful acoustics of the Drama Theatre allowing the audience, now cloaked in a veil of darkness, to hear every single sound that came from my body.

Walking toward upstage centre, I suddenly knew that I would become addicted to this feeling. It would be what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, a love for the confronting and powerful thrill that was performing live.

I looked out into the audience.

"Has anyone seen Abby Rose?"

A deep and unfamiliar masculine voice rasped from the middle of the audience - a heckler.

"Who's Abby Rose mate!?"

I stood still, stunned. This was going to be interesting.