How I Learned to Drive

Like it or not, How I Learned to Drive is the kind of show that is going to make you think. It was originally described to me as a "sweet play about pedophilia," and for four words, that's actually a pretty accurate description.

The play is about a young woman growing up in a family which draws her a confusing picture of sexuality. On top of that, she is in a disturbing relationship with her uncle. Throughout the play, there is an extended metaphor about driving a car, how being in control of an automobile can be similar to controlling your own life. I don't pretend to understand all the thematic elements of the script.

It's not the kind of play you really ever enjoy, because it's designed to creep you out. Uncle Peck is portrayed so sympathetically that you find yourself identifying with the pedophile, but then as soon as you do, he goes and does something creepy and you feel icky. I'll admit I was glad to be done with it when it ended.

Everyone involved in the Rhodes production did a great job. In particular, Greg and Shannon subtly and masterfully showcased the awkward, sweet, and creepy aspects of their characters' relationship.

The Lighting Design

This section is likely to be tedious for those of you who don't pay particular attention to lighting. If you are interested, read on, but I won't be insulted if you stop now.

Since it was the second show I was expected to draft, I had a pretty good idea of what I was doing. I think I spent about half the time (or less) actually working on the light plot for Drive as I did for Agnes (for an equally competent design).

My design for Drive was pretty straightforward. I used four lights for each acting area: one from straight in front, one directly behind, and one on either side, all angled vertically by about 45° (except the backlight which was generally at 75-85°). Although the 18 DMX color changing lights we have in stock are extremely versatile, I elected to use them as conventional instruments with real gels instead. Because they are bright and have variable beam properties, they mostly served as my frontlights.

I gelled everything except the frontlight in really wild colors with names like "Gypsy Lavendar" and "Peacock Blue" (and "Medium Amber," whose name doesn't do it justice; it's the color of direct sunlight at 5 PM). In combination, these colors could be approach naturalism, unless you were in the audience sections on house left (where everything was purple) or house right (where everything was green).

A few oddly-shaped or badly-positioned areas gave me trouble, but I was able to adapt some extra Fresnels and PARs to fill the holes.

I cued the show very quickly (about four hours) because of several technical challenges we encountered. You see, the McCoy Theatre was struck by lightning late one night, and the printed circuit boards inside the dimmer rack were completely fried, which meant the dimmers didn't know how to process the DMX signals coming from the control console. Ms. Laura called me in and told me that I would be able to write exactly one cue for the whole show. The audience would walk in, a stage manager would turn the house lights off, and the whole show would unfold in one cue state. I was resigned to this when, magically, Ty from Mainstage showed up with new circuit boards. The next morning (a Sunday), I showed up at the theatre at 10, writing cues until about 3 (with a break for lunch). The show opened that Friday.

The script flows together very smoothly, so a few of the scene-to-scene transitions needed help from me, but otherwise the lighting changes were very subtle.

On opening night, there is traditionally a reception in the lobby following the show, with delicious catered hors d'ouevres and plenty of mingling. During the reception, one young lighting designer in the audience found me to compliment my design and talk business with me. He asked what was behind my use of purple as a strong sidelight. It was unclear whether he disliked the purple or was just trying to make conversation, but other than "purple is pretty," I didn't have much to tell him; for a moment, I felt like a fraud. Then I thought to myself, this is art, self. It's okay if you can't always describe or justify your artistic decisions. Satisfied, I grabbed a mini quiche and went back to Blount.