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Another Friend Hits the Big Time In May of last year I saw my first friend in a professional theatrical touring production, when my friend Liz toured the country in Jekyll and Hyde. This past summer, another friend from the Center - Karen - came to visit the summer program and gave us some amazing news: she'd been cast in a national tour of Miss Saigon, and when she started rehearsals in September, she'd know if she was either Kim (the lead) or the alternate Kim (the first Kim gets an average of five weekly performances, the alternate, three). She was cast as the alternate, and the closest the tour would come to us would be Baltimore. That didn't stop us. The Center rented a bus and bought a block of tickets, and over forty of us traveled to Baltimore on Saturday to see Karen perform Kim at the matinee. Thirty of her family members were also there, along with her high school director and twenty of her college theatre friends. Although I'd seen Liz last year, the sensation of seeing a friend onstage in a huge production was still unfamiliar and wildly exciting (and, I think, always will be - at least in the case of the latter). I first knew Karen when I directed her in a production of Jack and the Beanstalk. I remember she didn't audition well. I cast her as a maid, and she had a small solo. Her voice was her strength then - clear as a bell, every note lovely. (It's still a strength, but it's not alone - she's added acting and dance to it now.) Over the years, I've performed with her, directed her, managed her. Over the years I've watched her grow up, watched her talent explode, and watched as her incredible voice - which one of our staff describes, quite accurately, as angelic - just get better and better. We have always told her she should audition for Miss Saigon - she has the look as well as the voice, and we have known for years that she would be exquisite in the role. On Saturday, she proved us right. She's alone on stage when the curtain rises, and I knew it was her immediately - when you work with someone for years, you learn to recognize the way they stand and move. When she opened her mouth a couple of scenes later and finally sang, a little montage of all of the things we'd done together or I'd seen her in ran through my head and I started to cry. It wasn't the last time I would do that. She was perfect. She was so perfect I wished I'd smuggled in a mini tape recorder so I could take her home to listen to. I have loved the music to Miss Saigon for years, but now, I only want to hear Karen. The word is that the tour people are thrilled with her - they're starting up two more tours, and it looks like Karen's in line to headline one of them. They actually had the writers of the show come out on Saturday to see her and a few of the others - this is a huge deal. (These are the people who also wrote Les Miserables.) I'm crossing my fingers that the offer is made and that she takes it, because I would dearly love to see her in the role again. And again. Afterwards, Phil and I fled the crowd awaiting Karen in the lobby and went around to the stage door. She had met her college friends there and was on her way back into the theatre. I don't think she knew we were coming on the bus, because she looked shocked and screamed and threw her arms around us. It's a moment I keep returning to in my head - telling her over and over how beautiful she'd sounded, how proud I was of her, how wonderful it had been. We walked back to the lobby, her arm tucked through mine most of the way, Phil striding next to us, and she laughed and smiled a little shyly at our compliments and complained of a cold and I knew, then, that no matter where she goes she will always be that person. That goofy, adorable, vocally gifted girl that I once sang By My Side with. She walked into the lobby and the huge crowd of people that had come to see her started to applaud. I turned away as she began to hug the rest of the staff, because more than one person was crying and I didn't want to start again. It's hard to describe how amazing it is to watch this happen, to watch someone who was hugely talented when she was younger rise gracefully to a professional level. She stepped out on the stage and blew me away - but in the end, I think it might be seeing her afterwards that I'll remember longer. Watching her laugh and shake her head at the idea that we wanted her to sign our programs. Watching her hug her sister, her mother, the head of our program. Watching her fulfill a dream that we've all had for her. It was an amazing day. |