The FrINgeSIDER 08/06/2010 3:08pm

A while ago I was offered a role in a Fringe show. Cool, right? And the cast includes some very fine actors, so I figure, "Great. I can let them do all the heavy lifting and I'll coast through and have a good time." Now The Show That I'm In opens tomorrow. It will be our first time on that stage since last Sunday and our first time in front of an audience. So now is the time I freak out. I'm enjoying a constant, mid-level, tingling dread, broken up by waves of full-on panic. Why didn't I work harder on this character? What if I forget my lines? What if I get lost or trapped in the concrete maze in the belly of Rarig? And what's the deal with the physicality I've been trying to work into my character? Is it too much? Too little? Will it make the audience think, "oh, that poor, old man. He should see a doctor?" It's all a little pathetic and very boring. Listening to an actor freak out is like listening to someone talk about his dream from last night. "And then I walked out the door of my house but now it was my house from when I was nine!" The only reason I inflict this on you is because, as the thrillingly capitalized FrINgeSIDER, I feel obliged to offer glimpses into the pageantry and passion of being a Fringe Festival performer. So there you have it. It's freak out time.