The Perfect Stage Crew: The Complete Technical Guide for High School, College, and Community Theater

PREfACE

IT'S All AbOUT THE SHOW …

Theater is magic. With small budgets and an amateur production staff, pulling off good community theater can be quite a trick. Good theater in a high school is the closest thing to real magic you may ever see on earth. That’s not to say it isn’t a lot of hard work, and it doesn’t mean good things will happen without a bit of effort. The magical part is the result of planning, teamwork, stick-to-it-iveness, and perhaps a little luck. It’s magical when things turn out better than expected. And, when things go wrong and catastrophe looms, the magic comes out in the extra efforts by cast and crew. Mostly the crew. Then again, I’m partial to the efforts of the stage crew; I ran the crew at Montgomery Blair High School in Silver Spring, Maryland, for more than nine years.

I’d like to share some stories, some techniques that I know work, and some advice. Using the advice and techniques I’ve described here, almost anyone can put together a well-running high school or community theater stage crew that does unexpectedly good work. It takes time, skill, and dedication, but the payoff is, well, magic.

You don’t have to read the whole book; you don’t even have to read the book in order. Just read enough to get inspired, then get in the theater, with your crew, and make some magic of your own.

SOME DETAILS

Since I work full-time in a public high school, most of my examples come with an education perspective or slant. The advice is perfectly applicable to community theater groups, church groups, even Scout groups working to put on a show. You may actually have it easier in some respects since the school bureaucracy can put a few blocks in your road, if you know what I’m sayin’….

You might, as you’re reading, take a moment to change the wording of some of my examples. Where I say The superintendent of schools … you might say, The bishop … or The community services manager … or whatever. You’ll quickly see that the lessons written for a high-school crew apply equally well outside of the school environment, and vice-versa.

I CHANGED ALL OF THE NAMES

When I started out writing this book (it began as a short note to my successor), I wasn’t going to use any names. When the note approached fourteen pages in length, I changed my mind completely. Hey, I’ll write a book! thought I, and here it is. My successor got a copy free, though Lord knows he doesn’t need it. I included an occasional story about something that happened in the past, so names crept in. That’s when I changed the names. I have two reasons for this: One, I’m not sure all of these students want their name mentioned in my book, and two, it’ll be great fun for them to try to figure out who I really mean. Since I had over thirty kids a year on stage crew, I had to search around for the right fake names. Once in a while a real name slipped in.

CREATIVE ITALICS

I’m a teacher, but I’m not an English teacher. So I’ve used italics and grammar in a personal, creative way to indicate emphasis, and to change the stress or point of a sentence. My editor has fixed most of these, but if you catch a poorly written phrase just let it go. I’m very sensitive about my writing, so please don’t write in with corrections unless you just hafta. Just read the line again, with a different inflection, like they taught you in drama class. When confused, try reading passages aloud. This is best done in public, in a muttering voice. At least people will leave you alone. If you read the book over and over again, everything will eventually make sense.

Actually, that might not be true. You’re going to have to read it, then try the technique a few times, then maybe it’ll make sense. Make sure you practice these techniques, even the simplest ones, before you try to show the crew kids how to do them. For instance, mix up some paint yourself (following my instructions) before you try to teach the kids how. This will prevent many embarrassing accidents. And try to think things through before you start them. There are, no doubt, plenty of techniques that work perfectly for me that will work differently for you. If you try something and it flops, redo it another way.

One more thing. The book is written to you as if you were going to actually do every little thing in it. We both know this isn’t really the case. You will train and assign others, usually beginners, to actually do the tasks described. You have to know what to do in order to train them, so the book is addressed to you. Think of it as the royal you, meaning you, your helpers, your crew, somebody else instead of you, youse guys, y’all—y’know what I mean?

By the way, if I mention a brand name, it’s simply because I like that brand. Nobody paid me for the plug. And there may be better brands—I’m not perfect, even if my stage crew is. Just look at my grammar, for heaven’s sake.

CHAPTERS

Things have been arranged in chapters, in approximate chronological order, and are listed like cues. You will occasionally pick up a little tidbit about one thing while you are reading about another. And at the end of several chapters you’ll find a couple of hints and tricks that don’t really seem to fit into that chapter. This is a gentle reminder that you can’t forget about painting while you’re working on lights, and vice-versa. I placed these items in this manner to match the approximate chronological order for a show. Some of these smaller hints are listed as edit cues, such as "Cue 3.9—Audition Posters." The truth is you’ll be trying to juggle almost all facets of the production at once anyway, so there is no true chronological order, at least not in every detail. It’s your book, so feel free to dog-ear pages you find important. There is an index, if you need it.

PICTURES

A lot of stage crew books have lots of pictures. Go buy those. Of course, it’s pictures of monkey wrenches, and we all know what a monkey wrench looks like. So, not too many pictures in here. Saves you money on the price of the book. Where you really need a picture you’ll find one, courtesy of me or my brother Mike. I’ll throw in a couple of AutoCAD drawings where I can.

PERFECTION

Some people have suggested that you can never have a perfect stage crew, and they are right. The job of creating a perfect stage crew will never be complete. There will always be room for improvement, and something will always go wrong. Do not despair. Reach for perfection, settle for 90 percent (see below).

90 PERCENT

If you don’t understand percentages, just rip this page out of the book and throw it away. If you do, set your standards to 150 percent of what you think can be done. Trust me—150 percent. Firmly establish in your mind that every facet of your production is going to improve by 50 percent over your expectations. Shoot for the moon! Get excited. Intend to impress. Your shows are going to become great! Got it? Good. Now you have two things left to do. Remember what I just told you … and forget it!

I’d like all of you to think back to your wonderful high school years. If you’ll be honest with me, and yourself, you’ll probably recall that it was very difficult to show you or teach you anything. Today’s kids are just the same. Your job is to show them what to do, then let them do it; their job is to not listen so well. So you’ll show them again. And again. Eventually they’ll get the idea. But it’ll be a rare day that you get exactly what you ask for. And an extremely rare day when you get it on time (more on this later). The thing to shoot for isn’t perfection, it’s the stage crew equivalent of an A. That’s 90 percent.

One hundred fifty percent? Ninety percent? Allow me to explain. If your predecessor produced mediocre shows, well, that’s about 70 percent. As in a C. If you try to push production values to 150 percent you’ll work yourself into a home. It’s not gonna happen. So, in scenic painting, the lines end up a little crooked, 90 percent; the windowpanes on a set piece are uneven, 90 percent; the fake rifles look a little too fake, 90 percent; a couple of light cues aren’t perfect, 90 percent. See, 90 percent is an A, and A means excellent. There’s a trick to this, of course.

You must never, never (never) admit to anyone (anyone) that you’d ever possibly settle for less than perfection. You must constantly push the kids to do better and better work. In effect, you must never be satisfied. That’s the 150 percent part. But in reality you have to say, that’ll serve, from time to time; the skill is in knowing when. That’s something I might not be able to teach you. But if you look for it, if you are aware that time is marching on and that last stair tread is just gonna hafta be a little crooked—well, 90 percent. This has to remain our little secret.

What you’ll find, as the weeks and months roll by, is that the kids can do far, far better work than they or you possibly imagined (more on this later). So set the bar impossibly high, privately and secretly settle for 90 percent of the bar, and your shows will be incredible. When you notice your predecessor was only getting 90 percent of the 70 percent of what you’re asking for (and getting), that’s when you’ll know you are on the right track.

The same thing is true in community theater. You’ll be working with beginners as well as with more experienced colleagues; push them for more than they think they can do. Strive for perfection. Once you establish a high level of quality, then you can lower the bar a bit.

Commit this page to memory, then tear it out of the book and throw it away. You must never, ever admit to anyone that you’re pulling this dirty little trick. If you do, you too will get 90 percent of 70 percent from the kids, or even less.

If you do the math, 90 percent of 150 percent is still 135 percent. So your shows are going to blow the audience away.

FALSE LIMITS

Another way of putting this percentage thing is to recall the many, many times you found yourself doing something well that you never thought you’d be able to do at all. Our kids are just at that stage of life. Left to their own devices they’ll put out mediocre work and think it’s great. Good coaches, and good teachers, know this and push, push, push the kids to do more. They’ll feel you pushing, and they might resent it a little, but you are doing them good; the show will get better; and they will have been a part of a life experience that is extraordinary, which means it wasn’t ordinary, which means you did good. Push, push, push; just have a sensitivity as to when to lighten up a little. Get it?

There’s a false limit and a real limit in every endeavor. Push past the false limits and your shows will be incredible. As I have learned the hard way, trying to push past a real limit invites disaster. Stay awake.

SLOGAN

All good stage crews should have a slogan. Ours was, The stage crew does whatever it takes to ensure the success of the production. I like it. You may use it, no extra charge.

SOME BAD NEWS

It’s always harder (much, much, much harder) to teach stage production than to do it. You will, from time to time, end up doing something the crew should be doing. Because it must get done, and they can’t, won’t, or haven’t done it. Whenever and wherever you can you’re supposed to have the children do it—they’re the ones in school. Just count on things taking as much as five times longer to complete than if you did them yourself.

Here’s an example. Putting up posters around the school would take me about an hour, and they would be straight, and placed well, and they would stay up. It’s going to take a crew of three kids two hours to do the same job half as well. At least until they learn how to do it. Persevere. Your job isn’t to do it; it’s to teach the kids how to do it. Accept that and you’re halfway home.

By the way, if you are in a middle school you’ll have to do more, as in cutting wood and ladder work; just try to set things up so the kids can do as much as they safely can.

COMMUNITY THEATER

Almost everything in this book is useful for or can be adapted to college or community theater. As anyone involved in community theater can tell you, you will still have to teach stagecraft techniques to the help. Luckily for you they’ll be out of high school, and they might listen better, and of course may already know a thing or two about what they are doing. And, as most community theaters are nonprofit, you can get away with a couple of things that a commercial establishment would have to do differently. In that regard, what you do is very similar to what happens at the nearby high school. Remember, expectations run a little higher for community theater productions, so redouble your efforts, especially when you recognize weak spots.

TEACHING TECHNICAL THEATER

If you need to get a show up and running and you’ve never done it before, then you’ve bought the right book. If you already know what you are doing and are just looking for new techniques and approaches to improve your work, again, you have the right book. If you intend to teach technical theater, well now, you may need to pick up a couple of more books. The truth is, we’re going to short-circuit some of the time-honored conventions of technical theater—in order to get the job done. For example, there is a way to calculate how much light falls on any particular spot on stage long before you climb a ladder and aim the light. We are going to skip right to hanging the light. Why? Because I doubt you have the time and budget to do everything by the book. And because you probably can’t radically change the lighting positions anyway. And, if you’re at all like me, you are going to have to see the light shining right down on the stage as you develop your light plot. Let me be clear. In this book you will be taught methods that work, shortcuts—not every technical thing. You’re doing the job of a dozen people on Broadway; you haven’t got the time or money to do things their way. In effect, we’ll cheat. If it’s a comfort to you, there’s precious little in this book that actually contradicts accepted practice, we’re just going to accelerate the process so we don’t get bogged down. Which means we’ll break a few rules where it really doesn’t matter. OK? OK.

YOU ARE NOT THE DIRECTOR, YOU ARE NOT THE PRODUCER

Another important thing to remember when producing shows is that you are not the director. You’re probably not really the producer, either; real producers raise money to finance shows. You’re just the stage crew guy. Or the stage crew dame. Let’s not be pedantic, for all love. Anyhow, you are not the director, unless it just so happens that you are. That is, you may be doing the entire show by yourself. If so, please take your vitamins. The hints in this book are mostly for the stage crew guy (dame) or the director’s assistant, the director’s boyfriend (girlfriend), or the person helping the director. There’s not a lot about directing in here, except in the backward sense of having everything well thought-out and working and completed on time, that sort of thing. No technique drills. No character development, warm ups, or improvs. Just crew stuff.

You see, I was never a director. Some people say I thought I was, but I wasn’t. My job was to do everything the director didn’t want to do. If you are the director, perhaps you should give this book to your boyfriend or girlfriend with that look that says, Pleeeease? Because running a stage crew is a huge job.

I did do one little bit of directing on the sly. This is a secret, so don’t tell. We were doing a play version of The Sting—a pretty good show, by the way—and I made a suggestion during rehearsals to Peg, the leading lady. Just a little hint about how to say a line, no big deal. In a prescient moment I added, Now this is just between you and me; if the director doesn’t like it you can never, ever tell him it was my idea. She agreed, and tried it; and she thought it was great, and I thought it was great, but the director did not think it was so good. He loudly and forcefully told her to do it the way he had said. I remember him yelling, Who told you to do that? I never told you to do that! I watched her turn white. I imagine I turned white too, as I had never seen him so mad. But, with all of that pressure on her, she didn’t tell on me. Peg. Cool kid. Fake name.

Later I learned a little tact.

RULES

In my classroom, I only have one rule: Follow the instructor’s directions at all times. Works for me. The best and only rule on stage is for the entire cast and crew to do whatever the director says. And remember, you are just the director’s little helper. So even you have to follow the director’s instructions. You have to put a bit of faith behind this. The director knows best. We know in real life this isn’t always true, but …

BREAKING THE RULES

As the years go by, an unwritten set of rules develops, modified by circumstances and enforced as well as possible. I’m thinking of things like, Don’t put your book bags in the back of the house, no food backstage, that sort of thing. If you want to write all of these little rules down, go right ahead, I won’t stop you. We installed the no book bags rule when some kid swiped all of the calculators out of the book bags. But please remember that the rules exist to make things run more smoothly. Try to be sensitive to situations where the rules aren’t actually helping you; then change the rule instead of breaking it.

BREAKING THE LAW

Fortunately for me, I never had to bust a crew kid, except for petty thievery. Apparently they were clever enough to hide most of their illicit activities from me, or maybe they just kept it off-campus—I don’t know. If you make it clear that misbehavior won’t be tolerated, you’ll have less of a problem with this. But beware. If something serious happens, you must deal with it appropriately. We did have to send a couple of kids up to the principal; he was perfectly fair to the kids, in my opinion—though the parents didn’t think so. The worst penalty, of course, is being kicked off of crew, and a couple of kids got it. Whatever you do, don’t ever say or imply that it’s OK to break the rules or the law, even if someone points out that you just did.

CUE 1

REAdy

You can start stage crew work without a director, without a venue, and without a show, but things won’t seem real until the entire staff is on board and a few things have been decided. This book covers pretty much everything except directing, costumes, and music, but your assignment may be just sets, or just sound, or maybe everything. I’m going to proceed on the assumption that you are working with a director, and that someone else is handling the costumes, the music, the dance steps, and the singing. Assembling the staff is a job in itself, and if someone gets sick you may just have to take over volunteer assistant dance coordinator duties as well as the traditional stage crew duties. Let’s keep the choreographer healthy; that way you can keep your mind on your job instead of everyone else’s job. In a nutshell, your job is to instruct the stage crew on the technical aspects of the production; in reality, you’ll be involved with every aspect of the production, the glove on the director’s hand.

DECIDING ON THE SHOW

It’s not really your job to decide on the show, it’s the director’s. And the director is always under a lot of pressure to pick a show that the kids will like, a big show so a lot of kids can participate, a popular show so you won’t lose money, a cheap show…. Let’s just admit that the director has pressures. You don’t really want to make things harder by even suggesting shows. No, no, no, what you want is … veto power. Veto power means you get to say no to a show, for any reason whatsoever, and it should stick. Needless to say, the choral director and band director should have veto power over musicals—the same as you.

Our principal (actually it was an assistant principal) thought he had veto power over our newest director, and screwed up his face when she decided to do Shakespeare for the second time in three years. I’m not a big Shakespeare scholar, but our director is; guess who won that battle. It helped that she’d just returned from London, acting at the Globe. The concern was that it’s sometimes difficult to win the student audience over to Shakespeare. Try one of the comedies—Much Ado, or Midsummer—and remind everybody involved that it’s a comedy … When Flute refuses to play Thisby (a woman) it’s because, I have a beard coming. That’s a joke! Y’know … woman/beard. Get it? A joke. People are always surprised to learn that (done right) Shakespeare’s comedies are actually pretty funny.

I don’t recall actually vetoing any shows, except maybe while we were still in the musing stage. I did get to pick a show, though, once. It was my first director’s last show before retiring. We started our career together with a screaming argument, and then, five years later, he asks, What show would you pick?

"Fiddler, I said, for two reasons. First, because I’ve always wanted to do it, and second, I’ve always wanted to do it with you as the director." He chose Fiddler. I figured it was a compliment to me. If you do Fiddler, figure out a way to make Frumah Sarah really fly. Be careful, but do it.

ONE-WEEK RUN/TWO-WEEK RUN

Once you’ve decided on a show, and gotten permission from the licensing agency to actually produce it, you’ll have to decide how many performances you can pull off. For several years we did three-day runs, and I was actually pretty happy, as there was only one weekend of pure panic and dread. But the truth is, I’ve come around to feel that you should have a two-week run—that is, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday of the first week, and Friday and Saturday nights the next week, with a Sunday matinee. At least for the musicals. You’ll find the musicals generally are more work all around, so the longer run might be more easily justified. And a two-week run can turn a financial loss into a profit, as the only extra expense is the royalty.

Opening on a Thursday does not guarantee a full house—rather the contrary—but the best part is the buzz the next day at school. Kids who saw the show will talk it up (presuming it’s good) and more kids’ll come the remaining days. Try a student discount on opening night to pack the house. Closing on a Sunday matinee gives more time for set cleanup—called a strike party. Try to get everything done since no one will want to come to a stage crew meeting the day after a show is over.

You’ll have to check with all adults involved, and be cautious about overexposing yourself. As the years go by, you can vary the number of performances. When you finally get to do Annie and Guys and Dolls, you should schedule as many performance dates as you can.

A Saturday-night closing can be great too; most parents will allow the kids to stay late at school to strike the set. You’ll have to buy the refreshments unless you can talk a parent into doing it.

DOUBLE CASTING

If you decide on a two-week run, the director may be tempted to double cast major parts. This is a very noble idea. It allows more kids to have starring roles and does attract a few new customers the second weekend. But it’s not worth it. It encourages student rivalries and is hell on the director, not to mention the costumer. To top it off, the kids will rarely work together to make both performances better; instead they may actually (consciously or unconsciously) work to hurt the performance that they don’t star in. If you have that many kids, then put on another (different) show, or let the drama club do it.

UNDERSTUDIES/CHANGES

You do have to be prepared in case somebody falls out or quits the show. Luckily for you it’s more the director’s problem; you just suggest and lend support. Mostly my suggestions were to put some kid from stage crew on stage. Many of them want to act but hold back, probably just due to shyness. We put Alan on as a judge, Cindy on as a waiter, everyone on as The Mob in A Tale of Two Cities, and a few kids in a few other places. I always encouraged the kids to try out—for the play, for cheerleading, for sports (I lost a good carpenter to the soccer team), but when a crisis hits, you promote from within. So an actor or stagehand gets pushed up, just like in the movies. Magic.

The truth is, a kid would have to be pretty darn sick to leave a show. We considered putting a ringer in the pit to sing Prince Charming’s song in Into the Woods, but the (incredibly sick) kid did it, and the other Prince harmonized to lift him through the tougher sections. From on stage. Nobody noticed except the people who were coming back to see the show a second time, and his effort earned him extra applause. Magic, magic, magic. Life memories of the best kind.

If you see trouble brewing, pull a kid early and get the replacement in there. I think we did that once.

RESERVING SPACE

In almost every case, the location of a show has to serve other masters. In a school the orchestra, choir, and even the school photographer will put demands on theater space. In community theater there can be as many as three shows in production at the same time. This leads to quite a few problems, most of which can be solved with a great big padlock. Lock up every single item that you can’t stand to have damaged, stolen, or used up. Lock up the tape if you expect to have any when you need it. Lock up the extension cords, or be prepared to buy more (perhaps you can attach them to a pipe with plastic cable ties). Lock up everything the other groups have no right to. They’ll use your water, and even your makeup, which is gross (all the actors should buy their own, but they never do). Outside groups may rent your space, right in the middle of your production. The superintendent of schools may come in to make a budget presentation. It stinks. You’ll have to