THE DRAGON GROWLS – PART 30

 

THE DRAGON GROWLS – PART 30

Rehearsals were starting to feel like Groundhog Day—the same routines over and over again. It wasn’t just monotonous, it was more like trying to work with Jello: slippery, ever-changing, and impossible to pin down. Every single day, we’d go over the same choreography, same music, same lines, only for everything to change again the moment we thought we had it nailed. It was exhausting, and frankly, frustrating. On top of my regular role, I was also responsible for understudy work, which became an ever-growing pile of expectations that no one ever fully committed to. The problem? Nothing ever stayed the same.

I started telling the others, “I’ll learn the understudy roles once they’re set.” Sure, I knew the music, knew the lines—but they were as much in flux as the rehearsals themselves. I wasn’t going to kill myself over changes that didn’t stick.

Meanwhile, the Power Struggles between the choreographer and the director were becoming more visible every day. The choreographer, clearly frustrated, would mutter under his breath, calling the director an “idiot.” And the director, constantly desperate for validation, would sidle up to cast members, trying to buddy up with us in a way that made us all feel a little uncomfortable. As for Power Suit, she sat in the corner, glued to her phone, her expression perpetually sour, as though her only role was to be a silent observer to the madness.

And speaking of madness, the situation in the shipyard was growing more chaotic by the day. More and more workers arrived, but the Italians on the shipyard crew had no idea what they were doing. We were handed white hard hats that we had to wear just to navigate the construction site. The sound of steel walls flying overhead became a regular part of the background noise as we dodged flying metal. The only positive was that there were three payphones for thousands of workers, conveniently placed across the yard. Trying to get any kind of help or clarity was becoming increasingly impossible.

And then, Laundry Day arrived. We had been without clean clothes for three weeks. The new laundry service had failed spectacularly, and when we went down to the hull of the ship to collect our bags, it was a disaster. My laundry had been lost—along with everyone else's. The clothes they found were all dyed blue, like some twisted laundry accident. I dropped off 25 pounds of laundry and was handed back a small collection of 10 pairs of blue underwear. I was furious, but at that point, it was more absurd than anything else. The whole situation felt like a bad joke.

Meanwhile, rumors swirled that the dancers had somehow become the scapegoats of the ship. Word had it that their attitudes were terrible, but I had a feeling it was less about attitude and more about the impossible conditions we were all enduring.

Rehearsals continued, but the environment was only getting more claustrophobic. The tiny rehearsal studio was crowded with frustration, and on top of that, we were preparing for the mechanical dragon scene. Now, let me tell you, this dragon was a nightmare in its own right. There were two performers who would have to use a rope to represent the dragon, swooping it at us while we dodged and waved our swords. Every day, I asked the same question: “Will the dragon be breathing fire?” And every day, I was told no. But I’d learned from experience. Years ago, I had done a convention for this same company, where they promised no pyrotechnics—only for them to blow us up with a full-scale fireworks display. I knew better than to trust their “assurances.”

When we returned to the shipyard, we found that the Italians had gone on strike again. The chaos seemed to have no end. It was as if the world had been spun on its head, and we were all just trying to hold on.