Guest Blogger: Jake Winn

'And We Made Them All Up'

'Finding My Voice' 'I still can't hear you' echoed in my head as I left rehearsal the other day. 'I still can't hear you.' Among the notes from Liesl after our first stumble-through were the repeated reminders about my volume and size. 'You're not in an independent film,' she said. Despite doing my homework, tightening my objectives, and warming up my voice: three weeks in and they still can't hear me.

The other day, during a ten-minute break, several of us were talking about the importance of eye contact. Someone talked about an actor who chose not to make eye contact with other actors while he was performing. Instead, this actor would look at the forehead of his scene partner. When the break was over, and we delved back into the world of Kid Victory, I couldn't help but linger on that story. The story became a tale of warning about being an actor who acts in a void.

There was a moment today, during our musical rehearsal, when John Kander stood from his seat behind the writers' table. With his first step, the room fell silent. Each subsequent step brought actors further and further towards the edge of their seats as hands of stage managers' discretely turned their phones to camera mode. When he sat down, behind the old, upright rehearsal piano, the focus in the room was unparalleled. His fingers stroked the keys and a brand new version of the verse in question flowed through the chamber of the piano and into the room. No one breathed. Unsure of whether to clap, nod, or cry, we all sat motionless. Jeff Denman, who was sitting next to me, raised his hands in the air and pronounced "John Kander, everybody," and the silence broke in stunned laughter, headshakes, and stifled amen's. It was at that point, sitting around the piano with some of the most talented artists that I've ever had the privilege of meeting, it hit me how surreal this experience was.