"...aaaaaaaand Scene"...

It is finished. The Music Man closed yesterday after an incredible five week run, with a whopping total of four previews and twenty-three shows. We got rave reviews, standing audiences, and great feedback about the production. However, as with any production, the closing is bittersweet.

There is a very common phenomenon in the theater world--great sadness settles in after the close of a show. Part of it is a feeling akin to moving to another town. After weeks together with the cast sharing emotions, being in cramped spaces and enduring high stress situations, suddenly they are leaving, and you are leaving. You are not sure when you are going to see the other members of the production again, and that hurts.

The other, deeper part is the leaving behind of someone that you will never see again. In creating a character, you infuse it with substance--real substance you construct primarily on your own. When the show closes, that character is gone forever. It is like losing a child, in many ways. Someone asked the other day, 'what if you did the show again--wouldn't you see that character another time?' My response was that (a) the likelihood of me playing this role ever again is somewhere between incredibly rare and never, and (b) even if I did do it again, it would be a different Harold Hill--sure some elements might be the same, but too many things would be different about me. My life would be in a different chapter, as would the lives of the director and the cast of the new production.

I updated my Facebook status last night to "David is saying goodbye to Professor Harold Hill, and bidding River City, Iowa a very fond adieu." For some reason, the closing of this show has hit me harder than any before. Perhaps it is because, for the first time in nearly 18 months, I don't have a project immediately starting up--hence, no creative process to distract me from the loss. Perhaps it is because I worked so hard personally on this show, doing so much character creation on my own, and infusing so much of myself into it. Perhaps it is because of the nature of the production, the many unique aspects of it, that I will likely not experience again (including getting to work on stage with both my sons).

In any case, it is tough to say goodbye to the world we created. I will miss it.

A very special thank you to all of you who came to the show, and to those of you who sent your support in other ways.