Theatre Programs

Last night I went to go see my friend and clown partner Julia in a play at Boston Court Theatre in Pasadena. It was a pretty cool show and superb performances. As I walked into the theatre--just as I have been for every show I have ever been to see--I was handed a program. And this morning when I woke up and saw that program on my desk--also just like I have done for every show I have ever been to see--I went to the large, green Rubbermade container in my closet and added the program for Everything You Touch.

You see an odd quirk that I have is that I have saved every single program and playbill from every show I have ever been to see or been a part of. From Newnan High School's production of Peter Pan when I was in kindergarten to Everything You Touch last night. I know that sounds a little obsessive, and I'm not sure exactly how or why it started. Well, obviously it started with Peter Pan, but I mean I don't know when I made a conscious decision to save all of them. A few weeks ago when I saw Book of Mormon, I was even teased a little by my wife and friends because I got one program that used to read and another that I wanted to keep uncreased and flat. I know it's silly. I explained why, and my friend Melissa asked, "Why do you keep them? How often do you ever go back and look through them?"

"About once or twice a year," was my reply, which seemed to be a number that made the idea of keeping them acceptable.

Some of them are signed. I have Jeff Golblum's signature on the original production of Pillowman, Ian McKellan from Dance of Death, Lea Thompson from Cabaret, Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane from the original production of The Producers, and a handful more. Some are quite valuable. I've seen the Lane/Broderick ones going for upwards of $150 on ebay. Some of them aren't signed. I waited for an hour and a half for Kelsey Grammar to sign my MacBeth, and he never came out.

I've of course got all the shows I've ever directed and been in, and the one and only show that I did makeup design for, many of which bring up quite fond memories. Like Servant of Two Masters at the Archway, The Day They Hung the Elephant with Four Clowns, Picasso at the Lapin Agile at NCTC, A Day in the Moonlight at VSU, Complete Works of William Shakespeare Abridged at Seaside Rep, or Beautiful Idiots at GHP. Some have not-so-great memories like Dark Side of the Moon or A Chorus Line. (Chorus Line was not bad, quite good actually. I was just going through a really tough time personally during it). I've also got some great ones from friends' productions: all four times I've seen Frank Ferrante in An Evening with Groucho, Sarah Fineout in Guys and Dolls, Chris Yule in something from San Francisco, every time I've gone to support Julia in something, all of the times I showed up to support my classmates at VSU, the shows at the Archway and NCTC, David Bridel's Trojan Women, the life-changing first time I ever saw Four Clowns, VSU's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream where I first met Bailee.

The thing that's interesting is that despite my fervent defense of myself whenever someone teases me about my collection, whenever I pull that box out and go through it, that once or twice a year, I always think: "Why am I keeping all of these? Why have I carried them to college and all over Florida and Cincinnati and San Francisco and Los Angeles?" The truthful answer is: I don't know. However, there is something cool to me about the idea that when I reach the end of my life--hopefully many many many years from now--I'll have this green piece of over-sized tupperware full of the memories of a life spent in the theatre. A physical and tangible representation of a life spent doing and appreciating the medium of art that I love so much.

That seems like an okay reason.