This past weekend I made my acting debut at Dartmouth. Don't worry if you missed it. A lot of people did. We didn't exactly have the advance tickets sales that, say, "Sunset Boulevard" has accumulated.
But then again, neither Glenn Close nor Andrew Lloyd Webber had much to do with out little production. Just nine people, on a stage at Collis, performing to mostly friends on Friday and Saturday night.
Our improvisational acting group is called "Blood Sucking Killer Flamingo Intercourse On The Planet Zigamorf." I had nothing to do with the name. I didn't have much to do with the writing of the pieces either. I simply showed up at the rehearsals to act in a few skits and to try my hardest to be entertaining.
I entered the entire endeavor, as I do so many things at Dartmouth, somewhat cynically. I told myself that, if nothing else, it would constitute a resume filler, and could be used as something I could talk about in interviews.
For awhile, though, I was having very deep regrets. The rehearsals went poorly, most of the skits seemed kind of pointless and I was having a hard time juggling my numerous time commitments. It started to seem like more trouble than it was worth.
More than once, our ever patient and graceful stage manager was forced to listen to my stressful rantings. The day before the performance, I sent a friend an exasperated blitz full of complainings; her four character response was "QUIT."
But I couldn't. I owed it to my co-actors, and to myself, to plunge ahead and do my best.
Opening night arrived, and I was full of angst and fear, wondering if I would bomb on-stage, wondering if my high school biology teacher/drama director was right when he decided to cast me as "Man Who Shouts One Line From The Audience" in our production of "Our Town."
As it turned out, it wasn't so bad. The skits that were really bad in rehearsal didn't get much better, but a bunch of them worked nicely; the audience seemed to be pleasantly entertained and I didn't do anything particularly embarrassing or terrible with my performances.
The second night was not as good. The audience wasn't laughing as much and the skits weren't working as well; but I didn't trip on anything or miss any lines, and I got some free pizza after it was all over.
Acting wasn't one of my Dartmouth experiences that I expect nothing out of, and grow immeasurably from. But it wasn't one of those experiences that I expect everything from, and am left deeply disappointed by either. (Tubestock, anyone?)
But I had fun, I met some new people, I convinced myself that I could do something that I wasn't sure I could do before; all told, it was an experience I'll remember for awhile.
It taught me a lesson -- one I think I already knew, but that could always use relearning: that at our institution, with so much to do, so many opportunities intellectually and socially, that you have to keep reminding yourself to try new things, you have to keep open every window of opportunity available to you.
And perhaps most importantly, it reminded me that a Dartmouth education exists as much outside the textbooks as it does inside them.
I certainly could have (and probably should have) spent last week doing work for my three classes, or my presidential scholar research, or preparing for my FSP in the fall.
But I acted instead, and if it means an extra all nighter somewhere along the line, so be it.
Not only did I get the resume filler, but I got to curse on-stage and be confused for Alec Baldwin. A good experience indeed.
