As a junior in college, I was cast as Polonius in my school’s pseudo-experimental, pseudo-post-modern production of Hamlet. For several nonsensical reasons, the creative team made Polonius a wheelchair-bound war veteran. (I know. Ick.) One night, upon my death in Act 3, Hamlet wheeled my carcass out from my hiding place and accidentally undid my wheel brakes. I began rolling down the set’s steeply raked platform towards the gaping maw of the orchestra pit. 

I remember my mind racing for a solution, one eye squinting open to gauge how much distance and time I had left till certain injury. All I knew for sure was, I was not going to break character. I was dead! While Hamlet saved me in time, the incident was the talk of community the rest of the run. And it’s my favorite memory as an actor.  

Few experiences beat the thrill of the first curtain call – when you finally put your work before a live audience, and the months or years of toil pay off. It’s so exhilarating because, until the audience is there, you really don’t know if it all works. The only sensation that beats it? Honestly, it’s the moment of a mistake. It’s so precious because (hopefully) it will never repeat itself, you honestly don’t know what comes next, and everyone watching knows it to be the case. That liveness is what makes theatre . . . theatre. This silly little play is a celebration of living in that unknown. By the time you leave today, I hope you’ll agree: there’s nothing like it. 

Damon Krometis 
Director