A lot of people assume that the theatre world is full of
sensitive people. There is truth to this idea, as many of the artists and
collaborators that succeed in the theatre world are extremely sensitive people.
However, theatre is not a place for sensitivity, in fact, it often becomes a
place where only the most thick-skinned people survive.
Emma was
one of the best dancers in our company. Raised by a professional ballerina and
world touring guitarist, she always knew she’s end up somewhere in the arts. Emma
was one of my cast members I knew I never had to question. Her commitment to
dance and the show was unshakeable, almost to the point of endangering herself.
Sitting in
class with her one morning she pulled out her fitness schedule.
“I’ve seen
what costume I’m gonna be wearing and if I don’t stick to this exactly I’m
going to look fat” she dropped casually. Carefully plotted on the page was the
next three months and what she would be eating and doing for exercise every
single day. I knew Emma was committed, but I also knew she has continually
struggled with an easting disorder. One of my hard and fast rules as a stage
manager is that the show is never
more important than someone’s mental or physical health. This was a red flag.
About a
week later I called a meeting with the choreographer and costume designer. We
chatted, bargained, and deliberated over a number of decisions about to be made
for our show. At the end I brought up Emma, her fitness plan, and her past
issues with eating and staying healthy.
“I’m not
mad about it,” the choreographer said as the only faculty member in the room.
My costume designer looked at me with her eyes wide, understanding the weight
of the situation.
“Well let’s
just be careful about how we speak to her about her body, I know this is
something she’s struggled with,” I said in an attempt to help my best dancer
out without offending my boss, the choreographer.
“Absolutely,”
my costumer designer said, in a reverent tone.
A silent
nod from my choreographer, and the meeting was over.
I thought
back to Emma. Her sandy brown hair, her small but expressive face that looks
exactly like her mother’s. I thought of all the times I saw her excited about
food, enjoying her life while managing her eating disorder. Then her
spreadsheet, a manic reaction to her upcoming performance, where many eyes
would be on her.
I realize
my choreographer is young. He doesn’t have any children. He doesn’t have a
sister. He didn’t understand the weight of the situation. But that doesn’t mean
he wasn’t to blame.
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