Category: Passion Blog

A chaotic time of the year with grinding for exams calls for a chaotic story about one of the productions I was involved in. My last complete production as tech director and lighting manager, All the Answers, was a turbulent process to begin with, and I could write hundreds of blogs on the issues with it. However, no event captured the high stress of this production more than the opening night. The set, which went incomplete past the deadline, had been finished and beautified during the days before opening. The issues with the show itself had also been ironed out and the rehearsals had gone very well over the past few days. I had taken my position in the light booth to begin the show, assured that everything downstairs was perfect for a good run. Order had returned and I was in a comfortable position again: my light control board, my excellent spotlight crew, and an excited audience below me.

The Prep’s aging theater had other plans in store for me.

Lighting in a show is supposed to be a second form of expression that remains constant in strength during most scenes. During my long tenure as lighting manager, I had rarely run into issues with the system, and those that had occurred were only during rehearsals. I would have never expected my trusty lighting system to begin uncontrollably flickering and dimming during a live run.

I do not have photos from that night, but you must believe me when I tell you that the lighting system had a stroke ten minutes into the opening run. I could do nothing about it using my board, and within minutes the directors had run up to check on the situation. It had not improved, and my disheveled clothes and complete shock showed them that this was not a drill. Using my experience and my confidence in my spotlight handlers, I was able to take the lighting system off of the automatic progression program and nurture the lights, which were becoming dim as candles at some points, through the entirety of the two-and-a-half hour production. The scene light arrangements, which were pre-recorded in the automatic progression, needed to be rewritten and modified for every scene on the spot during a live production! When the lights seemed on the verge of going out, I added the bright spotlights into the sequence. My spotlight handlers and I were connected that night as if we were one person.

I have never been happier to end an opening night in my life. I had worn my best suit that night to the opening services, and the events of the night had turned me into a wreck. I am a very healthy man, but this night was so tense that I got severe chest pain and headaches a quarter of the way through the run. The actors came out for their bows and I ran downstairs for post-show festivities. The lighting crew and I received an applause from the actors and visitors in the backstage. We had proven our strength and courage.

The Prep’s theater is an old place, but the lighting system is relatively new. The system was made digital in the late 1990s, and the mainframe computer for the light operation was stored in a closet backstage. These controls had not been touched since their installation, and the stacks of hard drives eventually became covered in dust. The decades of soot choked these integral parts of ventilation, and the system overheated, causing temporary flickers, dimness, and outages.

After several compressed air cans were sprayed onto the hard drives, the system worked like new, and I was able to rest my mind for the remainder of the show. It was one of the most flawless and beloved runs during my time. What a shift!

Morals of the story:

1. Remember to clean your possessions.
2. If you think exams are the most stressful process in being, talk to me. I will change your mind.

“There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition; and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call The Twilight Zone.”

There were many mysterious places scattered throughout my high school, but no site creeped me out more than the theater’s stage pit.

For the majority of my time at the Prep, the pit was a mysterious place, which had been sealed off completely before my time at the school in 2015. Its extra space was not needed for productions anymore. This tomb had existed below me for four years, and I had no clue to what it looked like, or what it contained.

The final production of my high school career was to be Damn Yankees, which would have opened in early May of 2020. This would have been a musical of epic proportions, where we planned to utilize all of our resources to amaze the crowds. We ran into a problem when the stage crew and the directors sought to find a way to make characters rise out of the underworld, a place that dictates the plot of the show. We decided to open the pit for the first time in five years to find a place fit to house the devil, and find it we did.

The backstage entrance to the pit was a large piece of plywood that covered the dinky ladder that dropped into the abyss. I was selected to be the first spelunker on this terrifying expedition, and I donned a mask, goggles, and strong flashlight to protect myself from the dust and the unknown. At the bottom, I was greeted by the large words, “O Sick wit eim,” and more spray paint on the walls than that on Philadelphia underpasses.

I knew that this place was special, as the directors told me to take as many photos as possible to post on the drama society’s Facebook for alumni to see. I found many oddities that had collected dust over half a decade, and thankfully I did not encounter anything paranormal or linked to the occult, as I expected. This beloved, dank place was finally revealed to a new generation of stage crew members and actors! I was eventually joined by several other stage crew members, since we needed to open the hatches to the pit on the stage.

Several hours and crowbars later, the hatch was open, and the Prep rediscovered a lost hobby, jumping into the pit onto the large, dusty gymnast pads at the bottom. It was an act of faith to dive headfirst into the dungeon of the Prep, but the satisfaction of it all compensated for the danger. We were surprised even more by the unique items we found tucked away in the pit, specifically a complete drum set, a hydraulic lift, and other relics from times past.

Three weeks after the pit was opened, we were all sent home and the production was postponed indefinitely. It had been my last action as a member of stage crew to explore the last frontier of the theater and unlock the treasure and tradition it held. I saw the names of those who had come before me and their cherished memories in the program that I had also experienced.

My last task was romantic in a sense, as I joined the names of those Preppers long gone during my last days in the school. Many of my creations will fade away from the memories of those at the Prep, but my presence in the theater’s tomb will be felt until the end of time.

In the beginning was the Lattice,

and the Lattice was with God,

and the Lattice was God.

My first experience with stage crew was through the production of The Music Man in Spring of 2017, and it still remains one of my favorite productions I was involved in. I had recently dropped out of my school’s rowing program and I felt that it was in my best interest to become involved in something that I truly enjoyed. My experience with the crew in my freshman year taught me lessons that I would recall throughout the remainder of my time in the program.

The amount of detail that went into the set, and the smaller moving pieces utilized throughout the show, was tremendous. No mistakes could be tolerated on these projects, and I quickly learned my first lesson from stage crew: Always strive to improve your work, and ensure that it is durable and beautiful.

The two materials that taught me this lesson were the wooden spindles and lattice that were widely utilized in the set. They were both nightmares to work with, and they were very easy to break in the process. It was a rookie’s worst nightmare.

After introductory training on how to use the power saws and drills, I was immediately given projects to tackle with the veterans of the program. If it were not for the guidance of these experienced builders, I would have screwed up countless times during the production, and I would not have evolved into the builder I am today. Their expertise with their construction and their abundant determination encouraged me to put my best efforts forward.

As displayed in photo three in the gallery above, the lattice and spindles were attached to large frames made out of a combination of 2x4s and 1x4s. The main issue that the crew faced during this production was cutting down the lattice from the larger sheets were were stocked with. These sheets, which can be seen in photo six, had a tendency to splinter under the power of our table and circular saws, and in order to produce the best finished product, be needed to focus on quality over quantity.

We broke out the jigsaw cutters and hand saws and got to work. Each cut was individually measured and traced before the cut was made, and we were encouraged to take out time with the saws. The hours I spent with the jigsaw with saw dust flying up to my protective goggles were demanding, but it gave me a deep understanding of how to tool worked and how I should approach cutting with it.

This was also the production were the beloved stage extension came into being. The entire façade of this structure was covered by small wood spindles and arches, which I also had to produce and paint.

If you think cutting spindles and lattice is terrible, wait until you have to paint it. I quickly learned that precision was required for the small things, in order to bring out the beauty in the larger set. After several broken spindles and feet of spent painters tape, the crew was able to create one of the most stunning pieces in my career.

People remember the first time they were involved in something or did something that would change them, and I am no exception. My involvement in the production of The Music Man and the trials I was immediately presented during it turned me into the experienced builder I am today. If there were any production I would go back to work through a second time, it would be this one. The design of the set, and the people I met in the crew made me fall in love with the program immediately (The spindles and lattice were fun to pulverize on demolition day too).

How does one build a set that is supposed to break every show? It may have been a pain, but our stage crew team was able to do just this during Fall of my Junior Year.

The production was based on The Play that Goes Wrong, and our objective was both simple and terrifying: Build a set that can break in every way and form, and still be reused throughout the production. This was a whole new ball game.

At first the tasks at hand seemed simple:

• Build panels over the fireplace that can be punched out
• Attach the paintings to magnets so they can fall down during the middle of the show when the magnet is pulled from behind.
• Build a rotating bookcase that would function as a secret  hideout.

Then we turned through the rest of the designs and stood back in shock.

• Ensure that the back walls of the set are able to fall at the end of the show.

How do you create falling walls that won’t be pulverized at the end of each show? The work began.

 

What a production! The set stole the show, and the audience laughed from opening to closing. Nothing broke too! How did we do it?

The falling walls were a pain to design and construct, but by the beginning of the production, we had mastered their operation.

We took large sheets of 1/4 inch thick lauan plywood and attached them to a light frame made out of 1×3 wood planks. These “walls” were then covered with wallpaper, a process that can be seen in photo three of the montage.

Once were had built a sturdy rear frame for the structure of the walls, which can also be seen in photo three, we needed to find a simple way to get these fake walls to fall properly on every occasion. We addressed this issue by attaching wall anchor loops to the fake walls and the stage floor. These loops were connected with zip ties to ensure that the walls remained close to the main supports when they fell.

After many days of testing, we were able to find this system that worked reliably. Now the biggest question remained: How do you keep the walls from falling until the end of the show? This was the most ingenious and terrifying solution of them all.

Each of the three falling walls was held to the rear support frame by two fishing lines, one located on each upper corner of the fake walls. This fishing line was fed through wall anchor loops on the support frame and attached to the rear wall of the stage to keep the walls up. When the cue came, crew members backstage would cut the lines, and the walls would come crashing down, and they did just that! They could easily be reset by feeding the line back through these loops, hoisting the walls back into position, and reattaching the lines to the rear walls.

This was without a doubt the most complex set I have ever built, but it is one of the most memorable as well. For a play that was scripted to go wrong, everything went right for the stage crew. We were also stars of the show for designing such a ridiculous set, and I will always look back on this production with happiness.

Sometimes, all you need for success is fishing line (and prayers).

The stage crew build process is a long and strenuous one. The entire set needs to be completed before the technical rehearsals start for the production, and the team quickly shifts to maintaining and operating the set during the show. What happens to the set after the show?

The stage crew construction cycle can be described by two simple metaphors:

1. Rome was not built in a day.
2. Hiroshima was destroyed in a day.

The crew shifts from dedicating large amounts of time to carefully piecing together a set and upkeeping it to leveling it in a three hour period.

Here is how it is done:

First, you will need a few tools and resources.

• A sledgehammer
• A crowbar
• A VERY LARGE dumpster
• Vacuum cleaners
• Power drills
• Muscle and grit

Destruction day still remains my favorite stage crew ritual, as it gives the team a new slate to use and allows for a recycling of materials. Most of the wood that we use in shows is reused to the point where it is structurally deficient, and screws are guaranteed to serve in several productions, until they are completely stripped down. Besides that, everything goes. The fun begins.

We mostly love and take pride in the structures we build, but there is always a piece that irritates everyone on the crew, to the point where it deserves a spot in hell.

What does a teenage crew armed with sledgehammers and crowbars do to these obnoxious structures?

We send them to the flames below

Nothing is as satisfying as pulverizing construction project with a sledgehammer, but we only reserve this measure for the worst items.

The remainder of the set is carefully dismantled using power drills, and the recycled wood and screws are sorted out from the waste. The remainder of the supplies meet the full power of the sledge hammer to be compressed for the dumpster.

Within three hours, our monuments to the show productions are reduced to a pile of wood in backstage and sawdust for the dumpster and vacuums. It seems depressing to put so much work into a project, only to have it torn apart by children wielding weapons of mass destruction.

This is what the reflection following the demolition is structured to combat. We reflect with the cast of the show on the high and low points of the production, and how we grew as actors and crew members because of them. The crew members usually mention the countless stories that came up during the build, and prove how we overcame hurdles to craft a set that blew the audience away.

Each set is both literally and figuratively built on the materials and knowledge gained from the previous set. We enjoy destroying our sets in such as small timeframe, because it gives us the opportunity to quickly remember our growth and look forward to the next shiny set design that we will be presented with. A phoenix rises out of the ashes.

 

 

This is a story of resilience. It is one of a structure that began as temporary, received a second life through modifications, survived abuse, and became an icon.

I am not talking about the Eiffel Tower, but the Prep theater’s stage extension.

It all began in the spring of 2017. I was a scrawny freshman, who was building his first set for Cape & Sword’s production of The Music Man.  I will cover the remainder of this set in a later post, but the stage extension was my major contribution to this production.

The task at hand was demanding: Create a sturdy platform in front of the stage that would effectively double the space for the actors. In its original configuration, this platform was slightly lower than the remainder of the stage, and contained two flights of inlaid steps to each theater aisle. We additionally built the front to imitate the spindle designs from the remainder of the set.

At its core, the extension was simple. There were five connected box structures made of 2x4s and 4x4s with 3/4″ plywood on top of them. This was a beginner level project, which I spent the majority of my time doing that spring. I learned what screws to use, how to do cuts, and how to measure items properly. The decorative front was an irritation, but it brought me up to the level of intermediate builder rapidly. I learned to make my cuts precise, paint very carefully, and depend on spackle like it’s the savior.

After the show closed, we thought that the beautiful creation was slated for demolition, but as our school unexpectedly got the launch position for Disney’s Newsies, the structure was called back to action.

As a sophomore, I raised the level of the platforms, by raising a new, identical 2x4s main frame structure over the existing stage extension using 4×4 blocks. We covered over the decorative spindles with poster boards containing newspaper articles because of Newsies!

I had learned to modify my current resources to  perform a new function, and I climbed up the stage crew ladder to become an advanced builder.

Newsies was not kind to my baby.

The constant tap dancing and choreography wore out the structure quickly and taught me my next essential skill: maintenance.

Throughout 1776, The Murder at Ramsbottom Manor, Spamalot, and All the Answers, the next four shows, I poured my heart into upkeeping the now indispensable structure.

That is the backstory for my pose in this crew photo after Spamalot. There was a single, small trap door in the top of the extension that could be used to access the dusty, trash-filled interior. I spent many hours squeezing through this door, replacing full support bars, and fine tuning the extension, so it wouldn’t squeak when actors stepped on it.

It survived, until I left. One of my last tasks as leader of the stage crew was to demolish this structure, to make way for a sturdier one. It was very satisfying to go at my extension with a sledgehammer, and the items we found on the inside were pieces of nostalgia from my four years at the Prep.

Take a look!

The sledgehammer is no joke!

The previous videos were taken of my teammate getting a turn with the weapon of mass destruction.

Within two weeks of the demolition, school was called off due to the pandemic, and the show production was canceled.

My first and last tasks at stage crew, as a novice and a moderator, revolved around the extension. As I disposed of the spindles I had focused so much work on three years earlier, I realized how far I had come as a builder, and how much this pile of lumber had taught me.

Sometimes it’s the little things in life that teach you the most.

When visitors walk into the backstage  section  of  my  high  school’s  theater, they  are  greeted  by  a large wooden  rabbit  head  propped  up  on  a HVAC  duct.  Our  stage  crew  has  built  many  unique  pieces, but  this  trophy  came  from  a monstrosity  that  outdid  the  rest.

Many  people  watched  and  enjoyed  our  theater  program’s  production  of  Spamalot,  and  one  of  the stars  of  the show  was  the  infamous  Trojan Rabbit.

The  scale  of  this  piece  was  tremendous,  and  so  was the  building  process  for it. I often consider this  project  to  be one  of the  greatest  pranks  pulled  on  me.

This  build  had  been  one  of  the most  productive  of  my  life, and  our  workshop  was  quickly  filling  up  with  completed  set pieces  ahead  of  deadlines.  I  was  taking  a quick  break  after  finishing  the  four  trees  in  the  background  of  the  photo  above.  I had  made  cuts  and  finished  assembly  in  record  time,  so Dan, our  moderator,  decided  to  reward  me  for  my  efforts.  Here is  how  the  conversation  went.

Dan: Ian, you are going to kill me for this.

Ian: Go on. It shouldn’t be that bad.

Dan: I need you to finish this gigantic rabbit, which will only be used in one scene of the show, in a week.

Ian:…

I had seen some wacky things during my three years of stage crew, but I knew I was in for something special when Dan handed me the renderings for this behemoth.

It turns out that I survived.

I immediately put together a team, and we began brainstorming structural designs.

The last thing we wanted was for this piece to have a weak structure, so we concluded that we should spare no expense. My design won in the end, and we quickly exhausted our wood and screw inventories to build it.

I concluded that a piece of this scale needed to be light in addition to sturdiness. It would be hard for two actors to move a ton of wood. I created an inner grid frame out of 2x4s (some of it can be seen in the photo above). We covered the sides with decorative lauan plywood and attached the head, which we had built separately. We never ground down the screw tips inside the frame, so walking into it to do work was the equivalent of being locked in the iron maiden.

We had finished our masterpiece, until we realized that we had neglected adding wheels to it. After many topple scares, and the assistance of the whole crew and an industrial grade car jack, our rabbit was mobile.

This is a project that I will remember for the rest of my life, but for the sake of my health and the lumber and screw supplies of Philadelphia, I pray to God that I never need to replicate it.