I have never been so happy to be so sad.
Today closed the 37-performance run of Lewis and Tolkien by Dean Batali, at Taproot Theatre Company, where I am an intern. I had the privilege of being in the rehearsal room from the beginning, shadowing the director, Karen Lund, and the assistant director, Kit Kidder-Mostrom.
However, whereas the directors’ work wrapped up around opening night, I kept going. I was hired to be the backstage swing, shadowing the SM, ASM, and light board op. I didn’t work all of the shows, but I still felt invested all the way through the process. Our ASM, originally scheduled to be out of town today, ended up being available – but thankfully, she allowed me to work the matinee show, so I could have a final hurrah with the cast and crew.
I gave everyone hugs, passed out thank-you notes, and drove home to enjoy the evening off.
Then started bawling as soon as I parked.
If you know me personally, or even if you’ve read bits of my blog, you know that C.S. Lewis is incredibly important to me as a human and an artist. Tolkien takes a similar role in my heart.
As a very brief summary, I was coming out of the darkest season of my life when I started listening to audiobooks. The Lord of the Rings reminded me that “a fool’s hope” is truer than the sage’s despair.
The Chronicles of Narnia helped me hear Aslan’s voice in my heart when I felt severed from God. When I learned that Taproot was doing Lewis and Tolkien, I was ecstatic. I knew that this show was going to mean more to me than any other show this season.
But that’s not the only reason I cried this afternoon.
I am an actress, but I have not performed since 2022, showcases and classes excluded. Actually, I haven’t worked on a show that closely in any capacity since then. Directing? Nope. Teching? Nope! I worked as a stitcher and dresser for Theatreworks in Colorado Springs, but usually rotated roles with coworkers and only worked a handful of performances. I’ve been in some rehearsals for all of Taproot’s shows since I started my internship, but never saw the process from start to finish.
I actually got to mourn a show today. I can’t tell you how cathartic it is that I actually get to do that.
I was a part of something. The whole cast and crew knows me. There were days when the show would not have gone on without me. I watched the actors transform from themselves into these literary and theological giants, these well-known and beloved authors. I listened to the show so many times that I could probably recite 50% of the script from memory (if not more).
This show touched so many lives, was seen by thousands of eager fans, and was sold out through the last day. And I got to be a part of that!
I can’t tell you how much of a gift it is that I got to be in rehearsals and performances. I am thanking and praising God because I knew I loved theatre, I knew I missed performing, but I didn’t realize how much my soul would be fed, my heart lifted, my eyes kept bright through the gloomy Pacific Northwest winter.
I’m writing this as an explanation of my experience, but also as a complete question mark of why the theatre penetrates my heart so much. The temporary experience that is so valuable precisely because it does not last. The heartbreak that is so happy because you realize how wonderfully you invested your time. I don’t understand how we are made in this way, that theatre artists thrive on these stories that come alive and then lay to rest in a couple of months. How we are fed by these families that fluctuate – production teams coming together, floating apart – yet somehow they remain embedded in our memories and very souls, shining on the walls in the disguise of an autographed poster.
No, literally – I signed the poster. Though I missed meeting him, my signature is right next to Dean Batali’s, who came to see the show multiple times.
I missed this.
I think it’s good I had a break – I’m a bit more mentally (and emotionally, and spiritually) stable, so I can enjoy my mourning without it turning into an existential crisis and complete loss of identity. Which can be the danger with theatre, or any art.
But here I am. Bittersweetly elated and still functional. My imagination baptized, as someone once said. The Lord revealing to me the beauties of others, where I look at these weirdos playing dress-up and say, “what? you too?” Where we become workers in the art of sub-creation; when, from first rehearsal to closing night, we experience a fleeting glimpse of joy beyond the confines of this world; onstage and backstage, we go further up and further in to a story that has the depth of the divine. It’s quite enthralling.
Thanks to everyone who made me have a good cry tonight.
Audrey A McGee 
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