By Sarah Pfander
Gargoyle assistant editor
Posted Monday, Dec. 4, 2006, The OG, features & arts

Note: Sarah Pfander wrote the play “Le Petit Chou,” performed Friday and Saturday at Student Productions in the North Attic Playhouse. For a quick overview of all the plays in StudProd this year, click here.

IT WAS FRIDAY, Dec. 1, and it had been a long day: math quiz, Habitat application due, basketball practice, and the thing foremost on my mind, StudProd. Friday meant one thing: opening night, and the debut of what resulted from my spur-of-the-moment decision on a long June day when the best activity I could think of was writing a play for Student Productions.

The writing process took place so long ago; I can barely remember the inspiration for the characters, the plot, the dialogue. I do remember being really excited. Happy that I did something productive over the summer, and proud that I was able to even write a script.

However, knowing that I wouldn't be able to direct the play because of my basketball commitments, I was hesitant to submit. I didn't know if the writer was permitted to outsource the job of director, but I figured I would try.

So I packaged up the script, sent it to my friend of extensive experience (having directed “Attack of the Furbies I” and “II”), Zoë Schein, and offered her the opportunity to direct. Assuming her answer would be yes, I sent the play to fine arts teacher Barbara Ridenour with a note explaining the situation.

Then I forgot. No joke, I completely forgot about the submission until the largely uneventful day when I got an e-mail informing me that my play, along with three others, had been selected for performance at StudProd. Well, that was quite a pleasant surprise. So after OK-ing everything with Zoë and going through a long revision process per the request of Ridenour, an anonymous reader, and Zoë, I stepped away.

Basketball and the general stress of junior year forced me to remain mostly uninvolved in the production process. I knew who the cast was and I was informed of major revisions; but, I really had no idea what was going on. Attending the dress rehearsal Thursday after my basketball practice was canceled due to weather gave me the only indication of how my play, my idea, my characters, were going to turn out.

So Friday night arrived. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. I had complete trust in the cast, but I was worried about how the audience was going to react to the story. What if it was too shallow, too stupid? Plus, I knew everyone was going to be comparing my play to the other three, and I was not excited about that.

But I was happily anticipating the performance: partially because I wanted to see Zoë and her cast's representation of my play, and partially because I wanted to laugh at my own witty dialogue.

With these thoughts running through my mind, I tramped down Springfield Avenue at 6 p.m., heading toward Uni where everyone in StudProd was meeting two hours before curtain. Here I encountered a severely awkward situation. I had not spent that much time with the people in any of the casts, but they had spent the last month working together. Plus, they all had something to do: makeup, costumes, hair, set, reading over lines. Meanwhile, I was stuck sitting backstage, wondering how everything was going to turn out.

Eventually, I left the actors and actresses frantically getting ready so I could find my seat in the North Attic. A few more minutes and (dramatic pause) the lights dimmed. My play wasn't first, so I got to sit back, relax, and enjoy Jackie Hedeman's wonderful version of “Cyrano de Bergerac” and observe the amazing talent of one Larissa Pittenger, one Hannah Lake-Rayburn, and one Robert Croisant.

The next 10 minutes were kind of a blur. I remember a cold sweat and frantic clutching of Claire Johnson's hand as Jamie Weiser, Anna Gooler, Martin Geiger, and Buck Walsh acted out my play.

Then I realized: The sky wasn't falling, the world wasn't ending, fire wasn't engulfing me. In fact, I was extremely insignificant. The entire cast was doing a great job, the audience was laughing at all the right parts, and Claire was writhing in agony as I broke her fingers. I took a breath and watched as Jamie and Anna fought on stage.

Then, before I knew it, Martin Geiger was running across stage screaming, “Eric, wait for me!” The play was over, and I felt great. The cast was amazing, Zoë had done great things with the scenes, and everything had come together

As Avril Lavigne's screeching and the sounds of people clapping and cheering filled my ears, I smiled. Everyone had seemed to like it. I was happy I had written the play, I was happy Zoë had directed it, I was happy with the performance. I stood up at intermission, having resolved to write a play for StudProd next year.