Is All Our Company Met?
So a Midsummer Night's Dream is gone.
Not my copy of the play, of course. It's got illustrations by Arthur Rackham, and nobody in their right mind gets rid of Rackham illustrations. The movie? Which one - I ditched the Callista Flockhart version ages ago, and the Jimmy Cagney one I'm keeping around.
No, I'm talking about possibly the worst production of that particular play ever committed to VHS tape, one that I helped perpetrate in grad school. How exactly it got perpetrated, what the consequences of that perpetration were, and how one of the actresses nearly got killed by a flying copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare are all inconsequential now, or, at least, a story to be told another time. How the Sunset Grill and Tap in Brighton helped save the production is also another story, albeit one that should be so obvious as to need no retelling. And how a half-dozen of us manhandled a keg up six flights of stairs during a timeout so we could see the winning field goal in BC's iconic victory over Notre Dame before running back to campus to do the Saturday night show (we lost 90% of our matinee audience to pregame preparations, by which I mean "beer"), well, that kind of speaks for itself.
But one thing that did come out of the production was a videotape of one of the performances. And for years, I hung onto that videotape. I dragged it out on occasion to show friends who didn't believe my stories of it. I watched it with Melinda early in our courtship, fortified by Macallan and horrified she actually wanted to see it. I, if not treasured, then at least felt comforted by it. Yes, it was a terrible production. Yes, it was as chock-full of offstage drama as any version of that particularly glandular play's going to be, especially when put forth on a shoestring budget by a passel of creative types unaware how thoroughly they're awash on a spring tide of hormones. Yes, yes, yes, all that and more. But it was honestly intended, and honestly produced, and there were good memories that came out of it as well as other ones. In short, it was a piece of personal history that was, if not a highlight, then at least indelible.
Years ago, one of the two VHS tapes holding the play broke. Yes, two - it's a very long play. And for years, I told myself that I would get it fixed. That I would get it transferred to digital media. That since it was the tape casing and not the actual magnetic tape that was borked, there was a way to salvage it.
No, I never did it. And when it came time to rearrange the entertainment library, when I needed to chuck some things and make some space, it was home-recorded VHS tapes that went, once and for all. Out went the staticky episodes of Muppets Tonight. Gone were the random Babylon 5s and Eerie, Indianas. The promo interview I recorded for Freedom: First Resistance in Boca Raton, the one where they turned my face green? Tossed. I think the only one I saved was the recording of my brief appearance on the 700 Club, which predicated an actual dive under a table to change t-shirts at Origins one year.
Which means, of course, that Midsummers went. Both tapes, even the good one. The decision took about ten seconds, maybe less.
Maybe I should feel sad about throwing it out, or possibly maudlin. I don't. I've got the memory. I don't need the thing.
Time to move on.
Not my copy of the play, of course. It's got illustrations by Arthur Rackham, and nobody in their right mind gets rid of Rackham illustrations. The movie? Which one - I ditched the Callista Flockhart version ages ago, and the Jimmy Cagney one I'm keeping around.
No, I'm talking about possibly the worst production of that particular play ever committed to VHS tape, one that I helped perpetrate in grad school. How exactly it got perpetrated, what the consequences of that perpetration were, and how one of the actresses nearly got killed by a flying copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare are all inconsequential now, or, at least, a story to be told another time. How the Sunset Grill and Tap in Brighton helped save the production is also another story, albeit one that should be so obvious as to need no retelling. And how a half-dozen of us manhandled a keg up six flights of stairs during a timeout so we could see the winning field goal in BC's iconic victory over Notre Dame before running back to campus to do the Saturday night show (we lost 90% of our matinee audience to pregame preparations, by which I mean "beer"), well, that kind of speaks for itself.
But one thing that did come out of the production was a videotape of one of the performances. And for years, I hung onto that videotape. I dragged it out on occasion to show friends who didn't believe my stories of it. I watched it with Melinda early in our courtship, fortified by Macallan and horrified she actually wanted to see it. I, if not treasured, then at least felt comforted by it. Yes, it was a terrible production. Yes, it was as chock-full of offstage drama as any version of that particularly glandular play's going to be, especially when put forth on a shoestring budget by a passel of creative types unaware how thoroughly they're awash on a spring tide of hormones. Yes, yes, yes, all that and more. But it was honestly intended, and honestly produced, and there were good memories that came out of it as well as other ones. In short, it was a piece of personal history that was, if not a highlight, then at least indelible.
Years ago, one of the two VHS tapes holding the play broke. Yes, two - it's a very long play. And for years, I told myself that I would get it fixed. That I would get it transferred to digital media. That since it was the tape casing and not the actual magnetic tape that was borked, there was a way to salvage it.
No, I never did it. And when it came time to rearrange the entertainment library, when I needed to chuck some things and make some space, it was home-recorded VHS tapes that went, once and for all. Out went the staticky episodes of Muppets Tonight. Gone were the random Babylon 5s and Eerie, Indianas. The promo interview I recorded for Freedom: First Resistance in Boca Raton, the one where they turned my face green? Tossed. I think the only one I saved was the recording of my brief appearance on the 700 Club, which predicated an actual dive under a table to change t-shirts at Origins one year.
Which means, of course, that Midsummers went. Both tapes, even the good one. The decision took about ten seconds, maybe less.
Maybe I should feel sad about throwing it out, or possibly maudlin. I don't. I've got the memory. I don't need the thing.
Time to move on.
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