yo brudda dis is part two of a two part blog so if you aint done read da firs part i suggest you finna scroll yo pretty self down a couple entries and edumacate yoself
On the bus ride home, we got to read all three of our ballots. Or really, I got to suck each ballot bone dry with my ffervently scanning eyes, only sparing morsels of information to my starving cast mates when my obsessive compulsive-esque critique hunt had been satisfactorily quenched. Myself being the only actor in both of the scenes of our one-act play, I naturally received the most criticisms, all of which I drilled into my brain. However many criticisms we may have gotten however, we had exponentially more effusive praises. The entire ensemble was showered with compliments, and one woman who was apparently very taken with our piece recommended that we simply "do not grow tired of the piece on your way to All-State!", which is sort of a huge freaking compliment to receive at districts.
With all this said, there were still many changes to make. Our next rehearsal, Mr. Hayes did not pander in niceties. He immediately set us to watching film of our performance, which is a slightly disheartening process. Many things which feel totally natural while performing end up looking very awkward on tape, and a lot of line delivery and intonation sound completely different when recorded than they do in your head when you're saying them. As uncomfortable a process it may be, however, it's also a very helpful one, and I as well as the rest of my cast took very thorough notes on the documentation.
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With two weeks until state, we were steadily improving. We were working out the kinks and further developing our characters, and all in all I felt we were creating a very strong show. All that watched it seemed to be very receptive, and I couldn't help but feel optimistic. Rehearsals stacked up and suddenly it was the eve of state competition. That night, we had by far our best practice thus far, prompting Mr. Hayes', whom usually curbs his enthusiasm to proclaim that he could not wait for all the tweaks we'd make coming into all-state. OH NO HE DIDN'T.
Oh, no he didn't. I will to this day never figure out what went wrong that day. We were all incredibly excited in the minutes preceding, we were beyond focused, and absolutely everything seemed to be in place. But we just came out flat. The energy was bleh, the timing was off, and the show was mediocre by our standards. Up until that point, we had never timed under thirty four minutes and thirty seconds, a close cut to the thirty five minute time limit that we rode like badasses. But that performance, Mr. Hayes came up to us after that show and said with a shred of unconcealable sadness that at least we made good time, clocking in at thirty one minutes and forty seconds. Though it was masqueraded as a good thing by our director, this of course was an awful thing meaning that we somehow had cut three minutes off our usual runtime without skipping any lines; pointing to a rushed show and broken timing.
I was furious. This was my first chance to make all-state on my own merit, hands absent the clenching of any coattails; and we had blown it. I sat in a corner and sulked for an hour or so, being coaxed by encouraging peers that our show hadn't been any worse than usual. My anger was settled a bit and I began to truly believe that it had all been in my head. The score sheets were posted a couple hours later, and then I really lost it. One of our judges had given us a 2, the inferior ranking, almost certainly blowing any chance we'd have at All-State. I made quite a spectacle of myself at that moment, punching the paper bearing such unfortunate news before yelling out a blood curdling scream and drop kicking by bag way across the room. Seriously, it must have traveled a hundred feet.
I eventually gathered my self, but I'd continue to be horribly upset about that one for weeks, expressing my disappointment to anyone who would listen at any given opportunity. When we received our judges ballots, my fate was all but sealed. In order to make All-State, at least two of your judges must give you a nomination; that meaning that only a small portion of the acts that receive "1" rankings from all judges will advance. All three ballots had been fairly scathing and were largely absent any of the warm fuzzies I had grown accustomed to, and I had essentially lost hope. I was now pretty okay with the fact that I would not be advancing.
When All-State nominations were posted, I scrolled down quickly to find if my improv team had been given a performing nomination (we did), but something caught my eye. It couldn't have been... But it was. Mother freaking Pillowman, from John F. Kennedy Highschool. I screamed, danced, then cried.
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