Accolade co-copy editor junior Serenity Li auditioned last semester to join the cast of the spring musical, “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” and director Annie Pagano — theater teacher Christian Penuelas’ substitute director — cast Li as one of Joseph’s brothers’ wives. With Pagano’s approval, the junior will document some of her experiences — before and during rehearsals — leading up to opening night, Friday, March 7. This is the last installment of the series; check out the A&E section to read her previous entries. Those interested in watching the performance can purchase $15 tickets from the show’s ticket website.
Layers of noise consisting of a chattering audience, an underlying medley of music and whispers from the cast fill my ears as I wait eagerly behind the curtain. The lighting is dim to keep the audience oblivious of our presence until the trumpets sound for the start of the show. It’s the opening night for “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” the Sunny Hills spring semester musical.
The production uses engaging song and dance to retell the Old Testament Bible story about Joseph and his journey after he is betrayed by his brothers and sent to Egypt.
I’m behind the curtain with the rest of the cast while we get into character and say a group prayer for the show. A second before the music starts, my stage partner and I decide to change one of the moves we do onstage, and I run it through my head as my muscle memory takes over in the first part of the song. As soon as we get to the altered section, it’s like a spark in my brain that interrupts the string of moves to add in a new one. Thankfully, all goes smoothly, and I finish the song with the others onstage with nothing else throwing us off balance.
Each song passes by in a blur as I smile around the stage, dancing, acting and singing. Even as I come backstage, my focus never wavers as I find my next place and props. Unlike rehearsals, I know every place I need to get to without any frantic hustle and bustle.
For example, I memorized how many songs pass until I have to go offstage. Once the first four songs are over, I glide offstage, staying in character and rushing to find any props I need. While waiting for my cue to reappear in front of the audience, I encouraged my friends about our performance so far.
Cast members and I watch from the wings of the stage as onstage characters sing about their troubles before a big dance number. As soon as the upbeat music starts, I’m back onstage moving and grooving an encouragement to the main character. I jump left and right and turn to face the audience, as the adrenaline rushes through me, and I raise my arms for the last high note before intermission.
During our break, the cast buzzes with energy, and we compliment each other on the great performance so far and hydrate ourselves. All of a sudden, we are back onstage, singing a plea to the main character, when I hear soft mechanical humming. Oh no, I think, the microphones might cut off again.
I remember how the dress rehearsal before was accompanied not only by the background melody of a musical number but also by unwanted and unpleasantly loud microphone feedback that prevented us from hearing each other’s vocals and hurt our eardrums. Of course, we continued to perform, but I could feel the smile on my face twist into a grimace.
Back to the present performance, the buzzing didn’t get louder, much to my relief, and the cast members and I kept our composure and stayed in character.
The rest of the second half of the performance flies by, and before I know it, I’m standing with my arms up next to my cast members, surrounded by golden confetti that flutters to the ground as we bow to a cheering crowd. We run off stage, and as the audience leaves, we start to pack up, changing out of our costumes and characters and coming back into our clothes and personas of real life.
Heat radiates from our bodies after our performance and we file into the humid choir room. We compliment each other on the show amid gulps of water and costume changes. I quickly turn from Judah’s wife into junior Serenity Li as I put my costume back into its protective sleeve and onto the rack holding other cloth characters, and I feel a sense of accomplishment after a successful opening night; my body is tired, but my energy is still high.
I finally come out from behind the stage and see my sister in the seats of the audience. We walk to the car as she raves about the show. I continue listening as I sit in the car, watching the streets go by and reflecting on my whole experience doing this musical.
I recall all the rehearsals I had, of times I spent with my friends and new ones I made during my time producing this musical. I think of the memories we made backstage: lip-syncing with whoever was singing on stage, creating unique traits to differentiate our characters and grooving to the original soundtrack. I have learned a lot from this new experience, too, like how to sing properly and create a scene in the background that is not only engaging but doesn’t take the focus off the main action.
I will miss acting with this specific cast and in this musical. I endured countless hours of singing, dancing and acting and of late nights trying to juggle homework and rehearsals simultaneously, but my struggles pale in comparison to the amusement of portraying a world with my friends. The last performance on Saturday, March 15, will close a curtain on this adventure — one that showed me how to liven the imagination of a script and give an audience an excellent story.
I’m sure the last performance will come as quickly as our opening night ends, and I can only cherish the time I have on the stage and with my amazing castmates.
Just like the cliche saying, maybe the real technicolor dreamcoat was the friends we made along the way.
