“The peril the wind sings to in the wires on a gray day.”**
Today, I am wondering about electricity.
As Dave Barry says, ““We believe that electricity exists, because the electric company keeps sending us bills for it, but we cannot figure out how it travels inside wires.”
I sometimes think–
On second thought, that’s not really true. I almost never think about electricity. It just works. Or it doesn’t–usually during a big storm or, inexplicably, on three consecutive sunny Saturday mornings last May.
However, today, I was thinking about electricity, because it is Wondering Wednesday, and as I was wondering what I was wondering about enough to write about today, I remembered something that happened many years ago during rehearsals for the Women’s Project’s production of Heather McDonald’s Dream of a Common Language.
Dream…is a beautiful play. Set on the eve of the First Impressionist Exhibition of 1874, it explores a topic that was relevant in 1874, relevant at the time of the production on which I worked, and still, sadly, highly relevant now: the way in which the work of women artists is devalued and marginalized simply because they are women.
Anyone who has been following the resurrection of the sense of outrage felt by women playwrights at their drastic under-representation will be both appalled that such organizations as 50/50 in 2020 and the Women’s Initiative at the Dramatists Guild are still necessary and thankful that these organizations as well as the Womens’ Project and New Georges still exist and still work to redress the balance.
All the philosophical, political and societal underpinnings of the play, however, are not really the point of this post. (So that’s a rant for another time.)
What I found myself laughing about yet again, all these years later, as I was digging through my brain for material, was this single event early in rehearsals.
See, the Dream… cast includes a child actor. In our case, J. R. Nutt — who I am happy to see has continued his career into young adulthood — no easy task — way to go, J. R.!
He probably doesn’t remember this. I think he was only 10 or 12 at the time. It is, however, one of my priceless memories of the experience.
It was early in rehearsals. Talented, creative actors with good hearts wanted to make sure that the child among them felt comfortable and at home. They took special pains during a break to reach out to him and include him in the conversation. He had done some work previously, but he was relatively new, still, to the theatre. It was entirely possible that he would be confused by some things.
Our leading man assured him that we were all there to help him out. If he had questions, he should come to us. We would happily answer anything he asked.
J. R. said, “We-elllll…….” and we all cast our minds back over Equity rules and theatrical procedures. Would we be asked to explain the break schedule? The stage manager’s role? Or would it be craft related? The best way to learn lines, perhaps? Given the leading man’s fatherly tone, I even considered the possibility of a question about sex–which would have presented certain problems, I guess, of appropriateness and, even, jurisdiction (his mom was around, of course)–but none was forthcoming.
What he actually said, after gazing speculatively around the circle of actors and crew, was “We-ellll…….you know…I don’t really understand electricity.”
I wish I had a snapshot of the faces in that circle at that moment — although I guess I don’t really need one, because I have never forgotten it, and it makes me giggle even now.
We were all so sure of ourselves, armored in our superior age and experience, and then this kid comes up with “I don’t really understand electricity” and a hopeful, anticipatory air, certain that we would explain it to him. After all, we’d just assured him he could ask us anything.
Seven or eight people then had to confess, sheepishly, that none of us really understood electricity either.
I did go home and look it up in the Encyclopedia Britannica. Perhaps it will come as no surprise to you when I tell you I still don’t understand electricity.
I do now have a Master Electrician lined up to do some work on Casa Lagarto. I have hope that he has, at least, a basic understanding. And I wonder if J. R. understands electricity these days, or if he has given up wondering and just flips a switch like the rest of us.
* George Carlin – “Electricity is really just organized lightning.”
** Janet Frame
