Shrek Diary: Changing Places

Dear Diary,

Some of the best action the audience never sees is in the costume changing areas backstage. With such a large cast, members are assigned to scattered places throughout the building rather than all in one spot.

The men's dressing room in the basement is for those who have few costumes. It features mirrors with bright lights, benches for sitting and casually applying makeup. It's where I often see Sean Stevens, the third of the little pigs and leader of our church band. Mighty-voiced Jen Rusk works her makeup in there once the show gets running. Brenton Ways, the booming-voiced nurse who looks great in green as Papa Ogre, and chips in a steady stream of good humor. It's also where two of the shows greatest stars prep. Jaron Rhoda's rangy voice and whimsical on-stage goofiness and physical comedy make him a dynamic Lord Farquaad; backstage, he's a quiet guy with an easy friendliness about him that makes his company a pleasure and earns the cast's respect. Matthew Henry is the dominant comic force in Shrek, pure electricity trained by obvious truckloads of devoted hard work to his character. From auditions to final bows, he's the engine of the performance, which says a lot on a cast with so many other Cadillac parts to it.

The green room is another charming gathering place that is home to the quickest of the quick changes. Some people use it occasionally to apply makeup, like the uber-talented dance captain Alex Lovell. Some are there to help others get their changes done, and to find some calm apart from the storm of dozens of sub-twentysomethings: Wendi Fleming, the Community Players mainstay and my "agent" who introduced me to CPT and pointed me toward a future performance of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels; Jennifer Stevens, another leader of our church band, Mary Kay consultant and friend dating back to Hairspray; Jen Maloy, my exquisitely matched on-stage wife with boundless energy and smiles that naturally draw people to her. And leads Chris Terven and Lisa Groves, featured in my earlier diary entry.

Then there's my area. The aptly-named "furniture row" is just that - a rear corridor just wide enough to bang your elbows on the contents of each wall, used mainly to store surplus rickety furniture that was last dusted during World War II. Among the talents I need to employ in Shrek, perhaps none is finer or more essential to my health than the ability to swim to my costume rack through the kind of murky unlit blackness that recalls the most murderous scenes of the Saw series. While there are no bear traps, razor blade boxes or other unsprung horrors planted (I think), the ground is littered with hastily-dropped wire hangers that cause hair-raising clangs if booted while the show is running. It's where, while transforming from King Harold to Pied Piper on the run, I see hazy outlines of Brenton being helped into his Big Bad Wolf costume by Shelby Sharick, who may be the most self-confident 15-year-old I've ever met. I nudge my way past Tony Smith, the gentle and genteel friend with incredible creative talent who's in our third show together. Past Ryan Groves, Jake Rathman and Austin Travis, the most huggable person on the planet who makes everyone feel like his brother or sister. Getting to stage on time, in a dust-free forward-facing complete costume without snapping my microphone, my flute, or my neck is a morale-booster of the highest order.