Budding thespians spring to life at Broadway Bootcamp
‘It’s really good to be back with other people’
It’s a day after the province moved into Step 2 of its reopening plan and three before the move to Step 3, but on the patio outside the Hamilton Family Theatre in Cambridge, live theatre has not only rebounded after a 16-month pandemic hiatus, it’s busting out of its PPE into full-fledged Broadway spectacle.
“Well, this car is automatic, it’s systematic, it’s hydromatic,” booms the iPad soundtrack of “Grease” as 10 sets of arms and legs keep frantic pace with the choreography of instructor Hailey Lewis. “Why it’s greased lightning!”
Spin … clap … hop … kick … backwards duckwalk … punch … step … step … fist pump.
As precise and co-ordinated as the out-of-control bus in the movie “Speed,” the teenage cohort at Summer Broadway Bootcamp — a week of performing arts workshops that mark Drayton Entertainment’s tentative foray back to normalcy — makes up for in gleeful enthusiasm what its lacks in foot-stomping solidarity.
The wind is blowing. The sky is overcast. A few minutes from now a torrential downfall will force students inside. But no one is complaining.
“It’s so much fun just being here,” notes Alyssa Panda, a 14-year-old singer, actor and dancer who has appeared in Drayton kids choruses and is eager to hone her skills.
Live. In person. Not on Zoom.
“It’s really good to be back with other people,” she enthuses. “We barely know each other, but there’s a connection that makes it feel like being part of a community again.”
During the course of my visit, I will hear these sentiments repeated over and over by the 50 masked, physically distanced teenagers cohorted into groups of 10: Zoom lessons were adequate, they agree, but nothing compares to live, in-person interactions.
“When we first walked in I was like ‘Oh my god, we’re actually here!” insists Panda of her experience the day before.
“The weird thing is, it feels normal already. The safety precautions just feel like what we’re doing now.”
Nowhere is this more evident than in the improv room, where students are learning the ins and outs of dramatic monologuing.
“Really Jack? Really? Only you can have a good idea?” recites Leah Gliddon, a 15-year-old aspiring thespian who drove in with her dad from London, Ont.
“Being boss doesn’t mean you have all the answers, just the brains to recognize the right one when you hear it.”
It’s from the Broadway musical “Newsies” — about the New York newsboys strike of 1899 — and as she orates her lines from memory, instructor David Connolly interjects with in-the-moment suggestions it’s hard to imagine taking place over a computer.
“Tell me what’s at stake for your character?” he presses. “Why do you care?”
Gliddon looks uncertain: “I don’t know. He’s a very passionate person?”
“On a scale of one to 10,” responds Connolly, “where’s the passion?”
She looks confused.
“If a monologue is in a musical,” he offers helpfully, “it means it’s really important. This is a 10!” She recites again: “Really Jack? Really? Only you … ?”
Connolly isn’t sold. “All of that was perfect,” he notes diplomatically. “You just have to energize it with more passion.”
“Really Jack? REALLY?? Only YOU … ?”
“That’s an 8.5,” he pushes, egging her on. “Go WAY over the top and see what happens.”
“REALLY!! JACK!!? REALLY!? ONLY YOU … ”
“Yeah, that’s passion!!!” he enthuses, waving his arms dramatically. “That was so great! Remember, you have a whole deck of cards to play.”
Out in the hall, I ask Gliddon if she had the desire to shout back “That’s way too much passion! Passion overkill!”
She laughs: “I think everyone is pretty aware we’re going to be getting constructive criticism. He was trying to get me to be more in character. It really is very helpful.”
For his part, Connolly — relieved to be back after 16 months of intermittent lockdowns — takes his responsibilities seriously.
“That’s what acting is: being present,” he responds when I ask about the benefits of in-person training.
“Theatre skills have to do with shared breath — interaction. Breathe. Energy. Life force.”
He sighs. “We’ve just lived through this really turbulent, fragile time. It’s highly emotional.”
He’s still haunted by the COVID-forced cancellation of “Kinky Boots” — a high-profile Drayton production that should have been a hit — and having to inform the cast the show they worked so hard on (which he directed) was cancelled on what was supposed to have been opening night.
And while there’s hope that Drayton will partially reopen its seven theatres in late fall, says Drayton head Alex Mustakas, with “some sort of pre-pandemic normal programming for the Christmas season,” a full reopening is still off in the distance.
“We were deemed non-essential,” explains Connolly with a note of disbelief. “But art was healing during pandemic. People turned to Netflix and streaming shows. That’s performance art.”
His big concern now: making up for lost time “so we don’t miss a generation.”
“It’s really about not feeling isolated and alone,” he notes. “You’re this person in Grade 7 who, if you don’t find anyone like you, is going to choose hockey or We feel a deep responwhatever. sibility to create a community of belonging.”
Over in the theatre’s foyer, where the dance group has moved during the rain, 16-yearold Zach Cain — the physical embodiment of Connolly’s sentiments — is bouncing around the floor to “Greased Lightning,” the only male in a class of women, the only American in a class of Canadians, thrilled to be back in the game.
“I was concerned I was a little rusty,” he confides during a break. “It’s nice to know I still got it. It’s great to move around in an area made for dance instead of doing it in your living room.”
And with that, he’s off, spinning, twisting and bouncing — the next generation, in full flower at Drayton.