Monday, July 06, 2026

A Quiet Moment Before the House Opens

There's always a few quiet minutes before we open the house, so it's nice to wander into the theatre and take a few pictures. It's one of my favorite moments of any production. The lights are on, the audience hasn't arrived yet, and for just a little while you get the stage all to yourself. It's the calm before the wonderful chaos.
Broadside set before the chaos begins

I'm especially proud of how the set for Broadside came together at Vintage Theatre. One of the smartest decisions we made was building on what was already there. We were able to reuse the previous show's flats and risers, which saved a tremendous amount of time, money, and effort. As soon as that production closed, the incredible Vintage staff struck the scenery almost immediately so we could move in the pieces that mattered to our story: the colonial common press, hand-built tea crates, and all the little details that slowly transformed the theatre into revolutionary Boston. The beautiful whiskey barrels, generously provided by Stranahan's, added just the right touch of authenticity.

Close up of the common press

The fun was in the scavenger hunt. Years ago I bought a beautiful clavichord simply because I couldn't resist it, never imagining it would one day become part of a musical set. Then I stumbled across a real K–12 classroom curriculum featuring reproductions of Revolutionary-era broadsides. Of course I printed them and plastered them across the walls. If you're telling a story about the power of the printed word, why not surround the audience with the very thing that changed history?

Broadsides, everywhere broadsides!

Standing in the empty theatre, I couldn't help but smile. The common press sat ready to spread tomorrow's news. The crates looked as though they'd just come off the docks. The barrels, the broadsides, the weathered wood, and even that old clavichord all found their place. It didn't feel like scenery anymore, it felt like a place with a history.

The colonial flag of Massachusetts in 1770

That's one of the joys of spending a summer making theatre. One week you're hauling lumber and hunting for eighteenth-century props, and the next you're standing in an empty theatre before the doors open, realizing you've somehow built Boston in 1770. I'd call that a pretty good summer vacation.