Star Wars Trilogy LIVE #1 (2011): The Casting Party

These Memories are accurate tellings of my perception, either they are approached as “good” or “bad.” Dates and times are precise, however certain individuals mentioned are strictly established on a first-name basis for the sake of privacy. The Memories blog is meant for the entertainment of Literature Lighthouse visitors. Enjoy!  

I did not anticipate the exhilaration of the theatre department to be a part of my life, until my exposure came to fruition in August 2009, when I first stepped foot in a high school. Apparently, my blindness to the arts was made apparent when I was introduced to my first theatre teacher, Mr. Arcibeque, whose exuberance challenged me so much to intimidation. Granted, I was always an exuberant kid, especially as a teenager, but if it weren’t for Mr. Archibeque’s teachings and the endless string of morals that transpired out of trial and error, my social life would still be a dismal purgatory of a smelly bedroom, with a severe lack of outside communication, and innumerable missed opportunities. I was a hungry, aspiring writer, so I needed the extra push.

Me in 2011 – I swear.

Considering my immediate infatuation for the theatre arts, despite my timid approach, I watched my first play, read my first script, memorized my first dialogue, and read my first Shakespeare, all of which fed me a smorgasbord of enlightenment I never knew I craved. Theatre also helped me conquer my first impressions of rejection. I was always thinking about girls, however nothing discouraged me more than not being selected to perform in a play. (It never struck my mind that this would be a normal occurrence.) I auditioned for every production looming around the corner, I was always prepared, and I always fell harder after every attempt. Notwithstanding, these simple vomit puddles brought me more reason and willingness to learn and improve; throwing up sucks, but it makes you feel better. In this respect, I finally entered my first play in Fall 2011.

It was not an ordinary play, in fact, the entire theatre department pieced it together. One theatre coach, a handful of teenagers, and several outside volunteers—there must have been at least twenty-five of us, which never occurred to me as excessive, for I was optimistic because the play itself was centered around the original Star Wars trilogy. It was essentially a farce, a playful rendition that would soon turn out to be some of the wackiest few weeks of my life. We performed several shows—three in one day—and it was a success; we were jam-packed almost every night, including the matinees. I still have the opening night recorded on DVD, and I’m surprised the camcorder withstood so much noise. We tore the roof off.

The show’s conclusion was bittersweet, though nonetheless a heavy weight off our shoulders. Because the script was already within the confines of the Star Wars films, Mr. Archie was the biggest fan, and we had so many jokes, the production was the most challenging part. I was thankful to finally walk around in my casual wear and not my C-3PO costume, made congestive with many layers of cotton, surfaced with bright gold polyester. (To my recollection, the costume was never washed.)

To celebrate, one of the cast members hosted a party which was apparently a tradition I never heard of until after the first few nights of rehearsal. I was amped, especially being the fact that I was becoming good friends with a couple of guys, named Cody and Warren, both of whom took my quiet, awkward self under their wings. Warren was exceptionally crafty and tenacious in theatre, whereas Cody delivered his soul through shredding flawless guitar riffs and making sure his hair was correctly adjusted before going outside. All three of us went together, there were a ton of Oreos, and I all for it.

I think it was within my heightened social life when I engaged a thirst to record every damn moment involving my friends and me. In fact, I was obsessed! Maybe if it weren’t for the benefit of possessing my first touchscreen cellphone, this video recording of the actual cast party never would have existed. Probably the latter. It’s a pretty charming home video. Although, I must say it would have been relatively paced if it weren’t tainted by my ugly noises and crude commentary. It’s only ten minutes long, but there’s only so much ten minutes I can handle. (Seriously, why didn’t anyone give this kid a muzzle?)

So this was my awkward teenage life sprouting like the smallest bud in the smallest garden in the smallest town: timid, delicate, whose color was just as loud and absurd. This memory has nothing to do with literature, of course. However, I hope I’m demonstrating its purpose to provoke those strange, beautiful ideas that I, among many writers alike, constantly strive to mold. For the growth of an artist, I’m thankful this night transpired.

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