Live-Blogging the "Our Town" Read-Through! Part One

11:07 - Sara Gmitter, the stage manager, calls the meeting to order. We (the cast, the designers, the Lookingglass admin staff, and we overeager interns) are all crammed into a rehearsal room—the cast are arranged around a square of tables in the center of the room, and everyone else is sitting in chairs along the wall. Tight quarters. My knees are pressed awkwardly against the back of David Kersnar’s chair. Brilliant!

Someone’s provided bagels. And cookies. I try not to get any cream cheese on either Kersnar or Laura Eason, who has just sat down next to us.

David Catlin takes a seat next to Kersner. “Do you have lipgloss on?”

It’s suddenly not hard to imagine these guys as nineteen year-old theater geeks.

11:09 – Catlin reveals that, at the inception of Lookingglass, he swore never to do “Our Town.”

So why’d he change his mind? He’s elusive on this point. Drat. Maybe the ensuing read-through will shed some light on the subject.

11:16 - Vince Malouf, the Marketing Assistant, brings up our desire to film rehearsals. Some are a bit hesitant.

“What exactly will you be filming?” asks an actress.

“Bathroom breaks, mostly,” Phil Smith deadpans.

11:20 - Sara Gmitter introduces the actor packets. She’s included wallet cards with important phone numbers and the detailed run dates. Whoa. Best stage manager ever.

“The parking info’s all in your packets. I can’t validate anyone, except to say that you’re all wonderful.” Silence. “You’re all wonderful,” Sara repeats. Ah, one of those “thinking man” jokes. I need to step up my game.

11:38 - Anna D. Shapiro and Jessica Thebus, both dressed in black, stand in unison.

Anna gestures to Vince. “Camera, please.” We titter.

The two begin to read their opening statements to the cast, sometimes in unison, sometimes alone—the coordination is too smooth to be spontaneous. I suddenly feel strangely touched that they already are so invested in this production and this company.

11:47 - Anna explains that, in Thornton Wilder’s time, having “no set” was very shocking, but today, a blank stage is not uncommon. So how can one effectively express the feeling of emptiness?

Set designer John Musical pulls out his set concept picture, drawn in pastels on a black canvas.

To Lookingglass, “no set” seems to mean suspending seemingly thousands of found objects from the ceiling. Chairs. A piano. Props from community theaters around Chicagoland along with Lookingglass detritus.

“We’re rebuilding the moon from “The Master and the Margharita” says John proudly. There are murmurs of approval.

“We still have that?”

“Didn’t we steal that from someone?”

Heidi: “We borrowed it!”

Jessica reminds us that all these items will outlast us—that everything from our coffee cup to our old photographs tend to have the last laugh. We sober up a bit.