Scarlett was seven when Theater stole her from the Matron. This happened while she watched a performance of Esperanza Rising at the Children's Theater. She wept--mourned, wailed and railed-- about illegal immigration until well-past midnight. The play's topic became urgent and real. Art had hold.A couple of months later, she and a 15-year old friend wrote, produced and directed a backyard production of Annie that involved 27 children, 100 audience members, a sound system, choreography, enormous painted backdrops and red hair dye (lasted six weeks).
You know who's Annie.
During the course of the week-long rehearsals, Scarlett requested email addresses for the children's families so she could better communicate with her cast. She is not yet eight.
When tucked her into bed after the first rehearsal, she offered this: "Mom, why don't those orphans listen better? They're supposed to do what I say." A director is born. You can rework those letters just a bit to get dictator, you know.
John and the Matron were in charge of food. Lots of it. Those orphans had no issues there.
Next, Scarlett auditioned for Little Bird at SteppingStone Theatre, St. Paul's children's theater. She stood on that big stage and belted out a song. She shivered and cowered on cue.
She didn't get in. But she went back for the very next audition with undiminished joy. And landed the role of Gladys Herdman in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. You know the book. This Official Theater Debut came four months after Annie.
Scarlett recognized that SteppingStone Theater was actually her new home and a much better place to be. Below, here she is, once again embodying poverty, in The Prince and the Pauper.
The cast of The Prince and the Pauper then became the cast of The Sound of Music for Scarlett's Second Annual Backyard Production. She was Gretel. And all those teenagers from SteppingStone traipsed to our house for more singing and dancing, under Scarlett's Command. She's eight now.
Our neighborhood is high on a bluff above the river. When the Matron mentioned to a neighbor that Scarlett was rehearsing a backyard play, the neighbor said: "We all know. These hills are alive with the sound of music, my dear." And it made life a little sweeter, she said.
Now, the Matron didn't feel like a real stage mother -you know, all claws and competition--till auditions at the Guthrie. This is the real deal, folks. Cash money and world stage, all that. Here is The Matron's Very Fine Rule for auditioning at the Guthrie Theater: Do Not Talk To The Other Mothers. Then, you're fine. Here's Scarlett as Maisie McLaughlin, impoverished and dirty Irish waif in The Home Place.
Check out that playbill. Yes, that's her in the second picture, the only person in pony-tails. Scarlett rubbed shoulders with Fame. And what did the famous do in return? Showered her with candy. gifts and generosity of spirit. The child landed a Webkin, drawings, flowers, jewelry, ornaments, (did she mention candy?) books, boundless good will and adoration. She was also exposed to a staggering scale of swearing, drink and Late Night (uh, some of this from her very own Mama). The child supervisor said he tried to cover her ears at just the right moments.
Every night she stood on that stage and hundreds applauded. That was her favorite part, she reports.
Next came Almost to Freedom at SteppingStone Theater. Scarlett played Mary-Kate, the plantation overseer's daughter. It's a stark, beautiful play about slavery. Kim Hines did the adaptation from the book by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson. If you don't know this book, it's worth trying.
This was the first play in which the Matron watched her daughter and thought: Wow. A child of her blood could harmonize in front of hundreds? Thank goodness John witnessed the birth or she might not have believed it.
That 9-year old pro's next show was also with SteppingStone Theatre. Scarlett was a weasel in Anansi the Trickster Spider. By this point, the Matron was getting so, oh, nonchalant about the whole endeavor, that she forgot about pictures (and she had a whole month to get some).
Here's how Scarlett has spent her free time for the past two years: online looking for auditions.
After Anansi came the Third Annual Backyard Production. This time it was Peter Pan. Scarlett was a definite Tink, not a Tinkerbell. The cast included a sea of pirates, Indian maidens and mermaids. The grand finale was a highly highly choreographed blast of Elton John's Crocodile Rock. More than one parent wiped an eye in the Matronly backyard--once again stuffed full of people!
Wait! The Matron forgot the movie! During the month of July, leading up to the play was the small independent art film: Minka is Here. Here is the daughter in a movie.
If you go to film festivals, you might even see it someday. It's lovely.
Reader, are you tired yet? Because the Matron is. Between the actual Theatrical Event comes the down home theatrics AND the search for the next gig. Because when Scarlett doesn't have a show?
She's worried. But if she's down, she can just think of her favorite things and feel better. Like realizing a (short and adorable) lifelong dream and being an actual Von Trapp child on an actual stage in an actual play that is NOT in the backyard.
This time for The Sound of Music at the Phipps Center for the Arts! Scarlett was Marta. Here she is charming up the Julie Andrews type.
Sound of Music took this child away (and the Matron to Wisconsin!) nearly every night for six weeks this fall.
In December, Scarlett traded traipsing through the hills for the deaf blind shuffle. Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker! Now, if Sound of Music stole Scarlett and kept her busy, this production did not. Indeed, the first 2/3 of private Helen and Annie rehearsals were cancelled. Here you are, in the midst of the actual shuffle.
"We don't need them."
But wait! The Matronly psyche did! That's an awfully big role to be dropping stage time. Not that she knows one single thing about theatre. Still, Stage Mother fretted as rehearsals fell like the stock market.
But all went well. The show opened to rave reviews.
For the entire run, Scarlett, you came home with spectacular bruises, splinters, two inch gashes on your arms. The role is physical. You were doused with water. You had so much blocking to remember you said it's almost like being in two plays at once. But you still found time to play 'school' with your brother and tried to mention all of your friends, by name, in the program.
Your fellow actors gave you high praise. You're a good team player. Even if Helen appears, well, fiesty.
After being the only child on the set for The Miracle Worker, the Mother Ship opened her arms to you and you happily climbed aboard, mid-March. The Matron doesn't think she's seen you since. Have you grown?
A little. Here you are, on a rehearsal break, with your latest set of best friends, the people who see you more than your family does.
Sometimes when she misses you, your mother tunes in as best she can. She watches this. That's pretty much the most direct contact she's had with you in a good long while, except for the driving.
But . . . being an icon is a once in a lifetime thrill. Right, Ramona?
Oh wait. You were just Helen Keller. Okay, you get to be an icon twice.
For the past six weeks, you've been gone six days a week, 10-12 hours a day. Merrick hasn't actually laid eyes on you in four days. You have blisters from the cowboy boots and welts from the wig tape. Your mama is pretty sure that you are skinnier. She hears you are the master of the art of Costume Change--the quickest one allowing you just 22 seconds (with assistance).
Scarlett, you've kept up with your school work. For this role, you requested and mastered contact lenses. The Matron hears you're a model of decorum and professionalism off stage. And even though it is safe to say that you're exhausted (and sleeping at 10 am, as she types), you might just be the happiest child on the planet these days.
After a week of previews, tonight is finally Opening Night. Your mother, friends and family are taking you out to dinner at your new favorite spot. (the Matron will admit to smiling when she saw there is wine on the menu) Later, they will settle into their very good seats to watch you romp about in Ramona Quimby.
And when the party is over, your family will take you home. And it's your mother who will get you warm lemon water and vanilla wafers to eat while you read before falling asleep. She's the one who will tend to the state of the sore throat and tired feet. Those stuffed animals you require--Missy Mousey, Georgie and Wolfie? Secured. She will rub your back and check on you ten times until the adrenaline finally ebbs and the body fades into night.
Because even though your days are spent in (and heart belongs to) the theatre, you still sleep here.
Break a leg, darling.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Your fellow actors gave you high praise. You're a good team player. Even if Helen appears, well, fiesty.
After being the only child on the set for The Miracle Worker, the Mother Ship opened her arms to you and you happily climbed aboard, mid-March. The Matron doesn't think she's seen you since. Have you grown?
A little. Here you are, on a rehearsal break, with your latest set of best friends, the people who see you more than your family does.
Sometimes when she misses you, your mother tunes in as best she can. She watches this. That's pretty much the most direct contact she's had with you in a good long while, except for the driving.
But . . . being an icon is a once in a lifetime thrill. Right, Ramona?
Oh wait. You were just Helen Keller. Okay, you get to be an icon twice.
For the past six weeks, you've been gone six days a week, 10-12 hours a day. Merrick hasn't actually laid eyes on you in four days. You have blisters from the cowboy boots and welts from the wig tape. Your mama is pretty sure that you are skinnier. She hears you are the master of the art of Costume Change--the quickest one allowing you just 22 seconds (with assistance).
Scarlett, you've kept up with your school work. For this role, you requested and mastered contact lenses. The Matron hears you're a model of decorum and professionalism off stage. And even though it is safe to say that you're exhausted (and sleeping at 10 am, as she types), you might just be the happiest child on the planet these days.
After a week of previews, tonight is finally Opening Night. Your mother, friends and family are taking you out to dinner at your new favorite spot. (the Matron will admit to smiling when she saw there is wine on the menu) Later, they will settle into their very good seats to watch you romp about in Ramona Quimby.
And when the party is over, your family will take you home. And it's your mother who will get you warm lemon water and vanilla wafers to eat while you read before falling asleep. She's the one who will tend to the state of the sore throat and tired feet. Those stuffed animals you require--Missy Mousey, Georgie and Wolfie? Secured. She will rub your back and check on you ten times until the adrenaline finally ebbs and the body fades into night.
Because even though your days are spent in (and heart belongs to) the theatre, you still sleep here.
Break a leg, darling.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Home Place Photo credit to Michal Daniel of Proofsheet Photograhy. Miracle Worker and Minka is here Ann Marsden and Ann Prim photo and movie credit, respectively. Sound of Music photographs are Mandsager Photography. The Ramona photo was lifted from the StarTribune.
