shoop gives of himself

I spent about five days working with Acting Without Boundaries, who work out of the Haverford School in Haverford, PA. It's handicapped actors putting on an abridged musical--in this case, "The Sound of Music."

This post should be incredibly heartwarming, but there are two problems: I don't write "heartwarming" very well, and I don't, as a general rule, get into heartwarming situations. Mostly, I wanted to speak when spoken to, do what I was told, and try not to fuck things up too much.

(Note: I don't much like profanity in blogs, but I will occasionally use "fuck" as a verb. I think it's a waste as a modifier. For example: what a shame. What a fucking shame. See? Didn't add anything useful, did I?)

Actually, there was one heartwarming moment. One of the young actors, a blond girl in a wheelchair, took a look at the backdrop--a big, panoramic view of the hills that are alive with the sound of music--and said, "I would like to visit the Alps."

"I would, too," I said--yessing, but not yes-anding, as improv pros would point out.

"I would take you," she said to me.

"Thanks," I said. "That's sweet." And it was.

The thing that amazed me was everyone's attitude. The handicapped actors--mostly physically so, but some with discernible learning delays--all wanted to learn their lines letter-perfectly. They would repeat as many times as necessary until they had it. I've directed a few times, and I'd probably strike a deal with Beelzebub to get actors with that kind of attitude. As for the director--well, this man had the patience of at least a couple of saints, and you could throw in a few saint-nominees for good measure. He inspired, he cajoled, he coaxed--and, so far as I knew, never condescended and never lost his respect for the youngsters--never lost it, period. He was responsible for putting 15-20 handicapped actors through their blocking, their costumes, their mikes, and their paces. The play I directed that's going up now has 5 non-handicapped actors, and they were enough to make me pull out my increasingly salt-and-pepper hair. To put it mildly, it puts things in perspective.

I wasn't 100% successful in my quest to not fuck things up, however. I was assigned one costume change for the young lady playing Maria. "You're assisting me?" she asked, with the social accuracy of one skilled in spotting incompetence. Sure enough, during one of the performances, I managed to make taking off her sweater, cowl, and apron into an ordeal long enough to delay a major entrance. For the second performance, I did better, but I also had help. It would seem that the handicapped do not necessarily benefit from my presence.

Still, a good way to get out of your head is to go help people. Even clumsy efforts to help are surprisingly appreciated--that doesn't happen often in life.