Author’s Note: This piece appeared in the January 2001 issue of the staff newsletter at the organization where I used to work. The “assignment” was to highlight a hidden talent or hobby that you enjoy. The title has been updated to reference one of the show’s modified lyrics. I was named MVP of the show for my contributions to sets, costumes, etc. backstage. This was the first of several light opera or musical productions that I performed in or worked crew on with this theatre troupe, including one in London, eventually ending up on its board of directors in charge of production.

I’ve always been a fan of musical theatre. And, like many others, I’ve fantasized about being on stage and being showered with thunderous applause by an adoring public. So, earlier this year, when I heard about the Village Light Opera Group – a local community theatre group – I decided to check it out. Sitting there in the dark theatre watching VLOG’s Spring production of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, I said to myself that familiar line from A Chorus Line – I can do that.

Leafing through the program, I saw that VLOG’s Fall production was going to be a Star Trek/Star Wars-like adaptation of Gilbert & Sullivan’s classic operetta H.M.S. Pinafore. In this case “His Majesty’s Ship” was now “His Majesty’s Starship,” and instead of British sailors on board the deck of a masted ship in Victorian England, the characters would be British Starfleet crewmen on the bridge of an Enterprise-like spacecraft in the 23rd century.

In late August I auditioned. Even though I had very little experience, I decided to audition for a role, rather than just for the chorus, figuring the extra bit of attention might help me stand out in the crowd and land me a chorus role. The audition went very well and I walked around Times Square afterwards feeling in very high spirits. I was thrilled when I got a callback not only for the role I had auditioned for but another role as well. Alas the callback didn’t go as well as the audition. I was now up against several other people trying out for the same part and nerves got the better of me. Still, I was delighted and quite content when the phone rang asking me if I would accept a chorus part. I was on my way.

We – a cast of 50 — began rehearsing in mid-September most Monday and Thursday evenings and as the show grew closer a few Saturdays as well. Most of the early rehearsals focused on learning the score; later on, we blocked the scenes and worked on various movements and choreography. In some ways I had a leg up on those who already knew the show and had to “unlearn” the original Gilbert lyrics and text which in many places had been rewritten to give it that Star Trek feel. On the other hand, it quickly became apparent to me that singing Sullivan’s four-part harmony was no easy task. This was my first experience singing in a group and I found it very difficult to tune-out what I was hearing around me, to focus on what I was supposed to be doing, and to know when we were in unison versus in harmony. I kept venturing into the melody or tenor lines when I was supposed to be singing the bass lines. In fact, in some places, the only way I was able “to hear” my part was with the help of my voice teacher and accompanist who helped me tremendously in tackling the score. What was that I had said about “I can do that”?

As VLOG is a completely volunteer organization – most everyone has a “day” job and the only paid performers are the orchestra – everyone is required to pitch in in some way to make the production happen. So, in addition to rehearsals during the week, my weekends began to fill up with work sessions at the group’s loft on 15th St and 10th Ave, where the sets are built, and the costumes are made. It was comforting to hear at the orientation that you didn’t have to know how to sew or use a power tool – there were folks there who would show you what to do and in no time at all you’d be a master seamstress/carpenter (well, all right, maybe an apprentice). I started in costumes, but quickly got corralled into set design. Later on, I helped lighting and sound designers, and also helped with publicity efforts by handing out the show’s flyer on the TKTS line and at other venues.

The Friday night the week before the show opened was “load-in” which literally meant transporting everything – sets, costumes, lights, etc. – by truck from the loft to the performance space at F.I.T. (27th St and 7^th Ave), then spending the weekend assembling it all. Between lifting, sawing, drilling, hammering, fastening nuts and bolts and screws, I had acquired in no short time some very sore muscles, cuts and bruises. Wisely, these marathon work sessions often would be followed by a party at someone’s home – a nice reward for all of our hard work.

The real reward was of course seeing the show materialize. After nearly a week of nightly tech rehearsals – adding in the lighting and sound effects cues – we had a dress rehearsal and then our first and only rehearsal with the full orchestra the night before we opened.

With everything else that was going on, I hadn’t really given much thought about makeup. At one point early on, the men had been offered the option of shaving their heads to be an alien. Much as I chuckled at the prospect of strolling into my office with a bald skull, my wife wisely persuaded me from this course of action and I decided to just be your basic “normal” Starfleet crewman. Still, I was told, without makeup, you’ll look ghastly under the lights. So, with a couple of library books, a few pointers from my wife and from my fellow crewmen who’d been through this before, I learned the finer points of stage makeup.

The performances went well – the audiences were enthusiastic and seemed to really enjoy the show. The energy of opening night, the celebratory party afterwards, and the satisfaction that we had made it to opening night, I’ll certainly remember. The fun of watching scenes offstage from the wings, and the great performances by the principals, also stand out in my mind. Seeing our little “limited engagements” ad in The New York Times on the same page with the best of Broadway was a thrill, as was racing in a cab to make a matinee curtain.

After two weekends and six performances, it was all over. As soon as we had said farewell to our friends and families in the audience after the last show, it was time to “strike” the set. More hammering, prying, lifting – more cuts and bruises. It was sad to see the set dismantled so quickly and the stage empty after all the hard work we had put into it. The good news – one more party to go to afterwards.

All in all it was a lot of work, but a lot of fun. I met some nice, interesting, creative people and I’m glad to have had the experience. Would I do it again? You bet, though right now I’m really looking forward to having some nights back to myself to just relax and do nothing. The best part of it without question was all the affection and support from friends, family and co-workers who came from as far away as Florida and Boston to see the show. I feel very fortunate in that regard and now I can honestly say that I know what it feels like to be a star.