Calling the Final Cue

           Since starting college, I’ve been asked countless times about my major, and every time, the conversation is the same:

           “Theatre,” I say.

           Then I get either a really excited and highly impressed “Aaahhh” – or a wary, trying-to-be-polite-but-obviously-disapproving “Ooooohh.”

           When I get the “Aaahhhs,” I usually have a wonderful conversation about my favorite art form. “Aaahhh” people know theatre – many have been or are currently involved in theatre themselves, so we can happily chat about our past experiences, our favorite shows, and swap our tricks of the trade which we’ve discovered.

But the “Oooers.” Yes, the “Oooers” always ask my favorite question: “So you like acting, then?”

            “Well, no actually. I do mainly backstage work. My passion is stage management.”

            And then I get the confused, “Oh?”

The “Oooers” have no idea what stage management is. They don’t even know the stage needs to be managed – there are the actors, the directors, and lights and music, and everything comes together seamlessly and invisibly when they see the play. They’re the ones that point up at the Phantom’s crashing chandelier and wonder, “How did they do that???” They’re completely awestruck that a fully functional chandelier could go soaring through the sky without causing mass destruction and copious injuries at the perfect moment – they don’t even realize that a person was sitting just Stage Right, whispering into a headset, orchestrating that perfect moment. They hear the word “management” and assume it’s a difficult and tedious job of filing papers and answering a phone. I try to explain the myriad tasks of a stage manager from first table read to closing night in five quick minutes, but most often my watered-down explanation, for the sake of time, never does justice to the joy I feel when I’m working a show. Stage management is difficult, yes, but far from tedious. Even before opening night, I am constantly running from the scene shop to the costume shop to the light booth to the rehearsal space to the stage talking to so many different people working on the show. In my position, I get to witness every single aspect of the show – I get to see the cogs and gears of the brilliant minds of the entire production whirl – from behind the scenes to center stage. It can get crazy, yes, but there is a reason why I put myself through the hard work and stress that can come with stage management: it all has a reward in the end. That reward for me is my favorite part of the position: calling the final cue.

There's something so exciting about calling the last cue of a show (So exciting, in fact, that I’m usually up, out of my seat when I do!). I’m in the booth, it’s right before the curtain falls, I prepare my board operators: “Stand By Light cue 70 and Sound cue 36.” They each respond: “Lights,” “Sound,” and their hands hover over their buttons. The final line of dialogue is said, and then… I call the cue: “Lights, sound, Go!” My waiting operators smash their respective buttons, and then the moment happens. The stage goes dark – either in an instant coupled with the perfect shell-shocking chord (BOOM!) or in a peaceful slow dim accompanied by a twinkling interlude to conclude a happily ever after (Aaw…).

Darkness… and for one breathless moment there is total silence from the audience, everyone taking in what they just experienced. They’re all speechless. The moment is real and raw as every person is suspended in this world for one more second before the lights come up again and applause erupts through the house. I made that moment. Without my call, that moment wouldn't be there. How and when I call the cue could change that moment completely - if you really think about it. Call a dramatic, instantaneous blackout a second earlier and the final, nail-biting line may be cut off completely, leaving the audience wondering what the heck Berenger thought of this cruel world filled with charging rhinoceroses (Eugene Ionesco’s The Rhinoceros); call a happily ever after any later and it could start getting awkward for Jack, Algernon, Gwendolen, and Cecily who only expect themselves to be lit for a brief moment before they can cease their happy mirth (Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest).

             My work for the night, in tandem with all those involved in the show, is wrapped up in shiny paper and a ribbon in that moment – the moment everyone waits for – the moment of suspension. And even if I run a show multiple nights, every last call is different, unique. Every performance I've done is special to me. I always run through each night in my head once the final cue is called – the successes and the flubs, the hurdles I jumped and the ones I went around – and no matter what, each is distinct in my mind. That uniqueness makes theatre magical. It may sound cheesy and cliché and you might say I’m just starry-eyed, but… theatre is magic. It’s a chance for us to be transported away from reality and into a different world – a world not far from our own, but far enough so that for a few hours the only important thing in our lives is witnessing the outcome of the lives we see on stage. It’s that coveted catharsis every theatre aficionado looks for; when a play can capture us so intensely that nothing else outside of that building matters, it is pure magic. That magic – that chance to escape from reality – is why theatre is a passion for me. Theatre is not just a hobby, not just a fun little activity I like to do on the weekends. Theatre is my life.