Community Theater Hates COVID

The COVID pandemic has been a rollercoaster for everyone. It's hard to find anyone whose life hasn't been affected, whether from suffering the virus themselves, losing loved ones, economic impacts, job losses, upheaval to education, or broken relationships due to ideologies regarding science, politics, and vaccines.

For me, COVID has been a mixed bag. My family was fortunate. My husband and I can and are still working from home. My adult daughters stayed safe out in the world, my son deferred his freshman year of college to avoid the virus, and my youngest daughter did the end of her sophomore and all of her junior year remotely because she did not trust the safety of the school.

So COVID meant that we got to spend quality time with our teens that all too soon will be off to their own lives. We baked and played board games, read by the fire, and watched movies. We only left the house for essential shopping and neighborhood walks, with occasional trips for hikes or the beach, far from anyone else.

Of course, there were bad parts, too. I didn't get to see my extended family for nearly a year and still haven't seen many of them due to distance and, in some cases, refusal of the vaccine. Putting my mom at risk was not happening, but not seeing her is hard since she's in her eighties. She moved in with my sister and brother-in-law early in the pandemic, which eased my mind, but I still missed visiting.

One of the most complex parts of COVID, though, was what it did to my favorite hobby in the world--community theater. I'd just been cast in Sylvia by A.R. Gurney, a comedy about a man in the middle of a midlife crisis who adopts a stray dog and nearly ends his marriage. I was to play Kate, the exasperated wife who has gotten a master's degree and restarted her career after raising her family. She looks forward to a new life in NYC with her husband and is none too pleased when Sylvia upends their life. (To understand the comedy, know that the actress playing the dog is always a younger woman and has a lot of sexy innuendo in her relationship with Greg, Kate's husband.)

The pandemic meant we had to postpone our production before rehearsals even began. Back in spring of 2020, we optimistically hoped we might be able to stage the show in the fall...nope. A whole year after we'd first cast the show, people were starting to get vaccinated, and we finally decided we could plan to open the show. The theater announced that Sylvia would open in November 2021.

We'd lost four of our six actors due to scheduling conflicts and relocation and had to hold new auditions to recast those roles. I was excited to work with our new cast, and the fun part began. I happily threw myself into the work of memorizing SO many lines, remembering blocking, working on costumes and props, and blissfully imagining what it would be like to perform again.

Our theater company decided that anyone involved in the show needed to show proof of vaccination. The audience would also need to be vaccinated and wear masks in the theater at all times. We didn't want to risk exposing anyone, nor did we want to risk the actors' health. We had a few complaints, but since most people are reasonable, we thought we'd managed to outsmart COVID.

We opened Sylvia on November 5, 2021, and performed all weekend. While our audiences were not huge, they were enthusiastic, and we had high hopes for our second and final weekend. We looked forward to larger audiences as word got out and seeing friends that couldn't make the first weekend. We planned our cast party and the gift for the director. I savored every moment, knowing that shows end too quickly and that I am always sad when they do.

On Thursday, November 11, the day before we should have opened our second weekend, I got a call from the director. Someone in the cast had tested positive on an at-home rapid test. Yes, a vaccinated person that works in a very public-facing environment. We hoped for a false positive. There would be a PCR test to confirm, but not till Friday, the day we were supposed to perform.

My husband insisted that I drop everything and get tested at urgent care. I had a rapid test, and when it came back negative, the doctor said not to worry about a PCR. However, that hardly mattered because we had to cancel the weekend. There was simply no way we could have someone that tested positive on a rapid test come into contact with people.

As texts, phone calls, and emails flew, my heart just sank. No show this weekend was bad enough, but it soon became apparent that a reschedule might not even be possible. People in the cast had conflicts for the following weekend, so even if our castmate's PCR test came back negative, we'd only be able to schedule one more show, not three. And quarantine guidelines are muddled, so it wasn't clear it was safe to come back the following weekend. After that, Thanksgiving and the crazy schedules of December would be in full effect, making it very clear that if we couldn't perform on Sunday, November 21, the show was over.

I am sitting at my computer on this rainy Friday, mourning the fact that I will not be playing Kate tonight, tomorrow night, or Sunday afternoon. I won't be fixing my hair and makeup, steaming my costumes, or placing my props and quick-change costumes backstage. I won't feel the nervous excitement before the curtain comes up or hug my castmates and wish them broken legs. I won't high-five my castmate, who has been anxious about his first speaking part, congratulating him not just for remembering his lines but delivering them with hilarious jocularity. I won't thrill when the audience reacts to the show, making every actor throw themselves even harder into their role. I won't speed-read my lines right before the pivotal Act 1 climax, a drunken confrontation with so many random occurrences that it's easy to get confused and skip sections that the audience needs to understand. I won't bask in the applause or see friends after the show to laugh with them at the fun we're having up there.

I am in mourning. Yes, I realize that this is small grief compared to all the lives we've lost due to this virus that has upended everything. And yet, performers across the country and probably worldwide are dealing with the same grief I am. Ours is not the first show affected by COVID, and everyone has had plans upended.

Kids have lost so many little experiences that should be part of their childhoods. Couples have postponed weddings. Families have had vacations canceled. Parties, barbecues, holidays, recitals, business trips, conferences, benefits--so much has been lost, and small griefs add up.

Our lives are a patchwork of small joys and small griefs. The people lost to COVID are huge, irreplaceable griefs, but that doesn't mean the small stuff doesn't hurt. Please support your local theaters, whether Broadway, local school shows, or community theaters like ours. These performers love to put on shows for you, and when COVID fouls things up, our hearts break harder than you know.