I’ve just viewed the movie from the festival on the webpage. It certainly brought back many memories. The week was so action-packed it could’ve been condense into a 3-hour Hollywood masterpiece, but once it was over, it turned out I remembered little and wanted to remember even less.
A few months have passed and I’ve certainly distanced myself emotionally from the event, so hopefully I can dig down into the dregs of my memory and bring up some interesting stories.
Probably one of the most hectic moments was due to a few meters of black plastic. Yes indeed. I’ve never been too much involved in either dance or theatre (unless you count the ballet preschool I went to with my brother in North Carolina. I wasn’t the best dancer, as I was decidedly too gangly, but I enjoyed it a lot, especially when my brother joined me. He had apparently had some qualms about ballet being girlish, in spite of the fact that I tried to convince him it wasn’t so. In face of the facts, the 99% of girls, he did have something going for him. Thankfully though, black ballet slippers embroidered with cute puppies sufficed to convince him it wasn’t a dishonor to his 4-year old masculinity to consent to accompany me.)
So it might not surprise you to find out that the whole concept of dance flooring was something new to me. I’ve seen people dancing plenty of times, but in movies ballet dancers usually practice in mirror-bedecked rooms with wooden floors polished so that they could serve as mirrors as well. Well, apparently this was another thing I had to learn. I soon came to know the exact dimensions of the dance flooring at the Centre and even what matte tape was necessary to secure it to the floor, as well as the fact that it has to be laid out a few days earlier, or at least the previous night, in order for there to be no creases or bumps.
I had it all figured out for the workshops and performances at the Center. The flooring would simply be laid out on the Sunday preceeding the festival and lay there until Friday morning. I wrote it in the ‘labor demand book’ that I would need two strong men to lay it out on Sunday, I supplied them with abundant tape and even arranged for the cleaning lady to mop it between workshops.
One thing escaped me, though. Not all the performances would be at the center. Nay, most of them would take place at the Warsaw Theater Conservatory.
That was a mistake I paid for most dearly.
Wednesday I made a quick visit to the premises with the technician for the Friday performance. I prompty got caught up in translating between him and the Polish technicians (who, although experts in their respective professions, are not endowed with an extensive knowledge of English), the discussion took a very technical turn as to the reflectors, light filters, number of lumens etc. The French technician was very much impressed with the size and brand-new equipment of the theatre, although of course it turned out they lacked a color filter which was necessary for him (the one they had was too orange). The crew showed him around for the better part of an hour and he left, content with the situation.
Thursday afternoon, the workshops were nearing the end. My OD and I heaved a sigh of relief that we had hit the half-way mark. We checked off the light filter, which we had bought, and all the other accessories for the next day. The French technician was eating dinner and eager to chronicle his impressions of Warsaw. I took a few minutes to accompany him and all was well until the bomb broke. „Hm, well, you know, I know this is a stupid question, because it’s so basic that it never even crossed my mind. There is dance flooring at the Conservatory, right? I just don’t remember seeing it there.”
My mind went blank. Of course there wasn’t. It’s a theatre, not a dance performance venue. It’s for actors who present Shakespeare and Kantor and Witkacy and care not what they stomp on. Not for dancers or actors who feel the need to come into close contact with the floor.
What more, the nice French technician had conveniently managed not to send me the technicial specifications for the performance, even though I had asked for them repeatedly. He had called a week before the festival and asked if they had back light, front light and 2 CD players. Fairly basic. Nothing about a dance floor.
„Well, yes, dance flooring, well that’s a standard”, said I, playing for time, yet not wanting to lie.
„Just wanted to doublecheck.” He emitted a nervous chuckle.
I chuckled even more nervously and proceeded to excuse myself.
The OD chuckled nervously when he found out. Then I called the Conservatory Director and we all proceeded to chuckle nervously.
Of course there was no dance flooring at the Conservatory.
A few hours later, we took to task the theatre company, a very nice couple in their 60s. The OD spoke, I translated, and after some small talk about the weather in Warsaw and the reception of their workshops, we got to the gist of the matter.
These artists are true professionals. They found out they would have to play on floorboards the next day. They were tired after their workshops, already stressing out before there performance. Yet they remained understanding and pro-active throughout. We had explained to them that there was no flooring, there would have been had we known earlier it was necessary, but no one had mentioned it. We would arrange for them to have access to the Conservatory that evening to look at the floorboards. Mr. Actor decided to accompany me there, while his wife went home. The guard wasn’t surprised to see us there at that hour, since he had been forewarned.
We were let onto the dark scene. Mr. Actor tentatively slid his foor over the floor. It was black, newly-painted, but the surface was uneven. Not only the risk of splinters, but also the risk of stubbing a toe during some glissade.
He shook his head.
I understood.
The taxi deposited him at his hotel, while the OD and I held our customary midnight battle talk.
Dance flooring is not some accessory you can randomly pick up from a costumes shop. And it has to lay on the floor for at least a few hours before it becomes usable. These two facts remained unchangeable, no matter how long we stared them in the face. Finally, the OD telephoned the Centre’s director. She consented to have the dance flooring removed the next morning to the Conservatory. The dimensions of the flooring were exactly enough to ensure that the Conservatory floor would be covered.
Of course, things were not that simple. I still had to expediate the flooring to the Conservatory, that is, get 2-3 men to roll it up, carry it out to the truck (thankfully the center’s truck was on call and accessible, although I also had to officially fill out an ‘order’ for the truck), drive it to the Conservatory, leave it there and have someone roll it out. Seems fairly simple. But the truck driver managed to get lost and when he finally found the Conservatory, he couldn’t enter the private driveway. So he did what all other employees and volunteers whenever they encountered the slightest hitch – they called me. As if he couldn’t get out of the truck and ask the guard to open the gate. No, he had to call me, so I had to call the Conservatory’s technical director and ask him what the procedure was for opening the gate to let our truck through. If only I could have gone with them it would have been much easier, but no, at that moment I was scheduled to gather up all of the leaves, stones, pebbles, and branches that one of the artists had been depositing over the course of a week in my office, and with the overmentioned artist, take a taxi to collect and take to the Conservatory the remaning articles, which he had stored in his hotel room and outside his hotel window (among others, the famous 2-meter branch he had brought with him by plane from his country).
As it turned out, we pulled up to the Conservatory just behind the truck with the dance flooring. It was as well, since the sight of a slight young blonde as myself with such a load quickly mobilized the boys from the stage crew to carry the flooring in, thus sparing our driver. (In general the stage crew were the bright point of the festival, young professionals who worked overtime and in great stress, while not knowing the language of the artists, in order to make sure everything went well.)
The French technician was there as well. I imagine his bosses, the acting couple, had given him a piece of their minds the previous evening. He had taken a break from getting the stage set up and was outside smoking, so he saw everything. He came up to me with a beaming smile: „Dance flooring! Super. I hope it wasn’t a problem for you?”
To which I deigned to reply with a haughty look and the words: „It was, indeed, a problem. But it’s been solved.” („No thanks to you”, I added in my mind). And I turned around and left him there in a cloud of smoke to meditate on his own iniquity.
All in all, the dance flooring was a good investment. It turned out all of the actors for the remaning performances wanted it as well. Their eyes positively shined when they saw it was there.
And Mr. Actor thanked us effusively. In an official statement, he said he was very touched by the effort the organizers had made to supply everything, and added with a wink in his eye that he was especially grateful for the dance flooring.
Those words of his were one of the nicest that were spoken during the festival. It takes a great artist to be able to appreciate and thank the people who work behind the scenes.
The moral of the story is: Never let a dance flooring take you unawares.