On Directing a Musical During a Pandemic.

I am not a natural optimist.

I wish that were not the case, but I’m pessimistic all the way down to the bottom of that proverbial half-empty glass. Then COVID-19 came along and cranked up the volume of my pessimism even higher, to the point where my personal motto has almost become: Why bother putting forth effort for something that will probably never come to fruition?

Earlier this year, I was directing a play that was sabotaged by the virus. We were planning to perform Peter Pan in April—the set was built, the lines were learned, the costumes were ready, the props were in place. But it never came to be. COVID-19 crushed all of our plans to dust when the state government shut down the schools. We had no choice but to pull the plug.
           
All of our efforts were for naught.    
          
Taking on another production in the midst of this ongoing pandemic seemed like a fruitless endeavor, but in a year that has been fraught with disappointments, cancellations and postponements, where even the things deemed most essential have been reduced, abridged, and cut to the very bone, the idea of watching a group of kids sing “We’re All in This Together” on stage filled my glass-half-empty heart with an irresistible hope.

​So it was with wary caution that I agreed to direct Disney’s High School Musical, knowing that it might never make it to the stage.

I love working with teenagers to make musicals. It is absolute magic and I’m always shocked by how much they have to give. It’s a rush to recognize and draw out talent from a kid who didn’t even know he had it and to watch that kid grow in confidence and comfort on the stage.

And when it's all said and done, it is so gratifying to watch those kids bask in the accolades and praise of their audience...

...but I knew that the chances of us having a live audience for this show were slim.

​If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

If a group of people put on a musical and no one is there to watch it, does it make an impact?
           
This idea has plagued me for the past three months, forcing me into a tailspin of destructive self-reflection. The pessimist within me was always asking, Why are you even directing this show? Why did you even say yes if there was a fairly significant chance that no one would even be there to see it?

But the kids asked no such questions.

They wanted an audience, to be sure—as much as I did, if not more so. But their enthusiasm was not tempered by their fears. They kept on coming to practice and singing their hearts out, though the sound was muffled by the fabric of their face masks. They were not unlike the Tibetan monks who work tirelessly to create their beautiful sand mandalas, only to destroy them shortly after their completion in a brutal lesson on the impermanence of things.

Those kids practiced, undaunted, and watching them carry on with such joy kindled a flame of hope within me.

Hope is defiant. Hope is a bold enough to say, No matter the outcome, the venture is worth taking. Hope proceeds in spite of all evidence to the contrary.

Hope is not passive—hope is action. It is a decision to keep trying in the face of  opposition.

This season has forced me to reevaluate my motives and priorities. I have had to set aside my perfectionism and focus on the only thing that truly matters this season: the sheer joy of it.

I love creating something from nothing. I love collaborating with these kids and my dad and the adult volunteers. I even love giving up my nights and weekends for play practice. I am directing this show purely for joy’s sake, and the joy I've experienced in the act of directing is enough. When I allow myself to get swept up in the maelstrom of COVID-19, it can be easy to lose sight of that.  

If a group of people put on a musical and no one is there to watch it, does it make an impact?

I'm finding that the answer is still yes.