Devonne Brown

I resigned from the presidency of the Players faster than I was elected president of the organization. It became a political cesspool. Who was going to direct what? Were the plays precast? Could we precast? Why couldn’t we put on this play or that play? Why did the prestigious director, my college theatre professor, bomb on “The Cherry Orchard.” I also recommend the tech director, also one of my college theatre professors. Why the hell did we do “The Freaking Cherry Orchard” in the first place. 

The kid who was cast as a supporting actor wouldn’t even learn one song on the guitar for his big scene. He looked the perfect fat foil to the perfect and beautiful, tall, dark, and handsome leading man from the local college. He was only one of the actors that dropped the ball on the production. A seven performance ball drop. By the end of the run, none of the actors cared about the show, threw all their lines away, and walked through the blocking like zombies. 

That play flopped like a fish on a dock. At least I didn’t pick the play or put the name of the director or the tech director forward, I just recommended them, so it was only partially my fault. I felt so bad I resigned. I was so wrapped up in keeping everybody happy and solving problems as important as replacing a blue gel with a red one on a follow spot that I didn’t get the blue drape for the top of the stage. It would have been beautiful, but sometimes decoration was a luxury not a necessity. That’s what my theatre classes, as well as my mom, taught me but my tech professor was adamant about that blue drape and I could have cared less. 

I had papers to sign, a secretary to appease,  board members to control, and a crowd coming. O Lord, a crowd coming to see the biggest pumpkin drop since Halloween. Why the hell did the yearly Players “classic” have to be “The Cherry Orchard” a hundred year old woofer of a play. 

Then there was the incident where I told the board not to use an already selected director. She had walked out of rehearsal, quit a mainstage show with two weeks to go. That went over like a lead balloon. She tried to impeach me as well as sue me for slander, defamation, and meanness because I took over her part, and did well. 

In addition to my credentials as a theatre major, I had enjoyed success as an actor, assistant director, tech director, and even director for several Players shows, which is why I was elected president of the organization. I had loved all aspects of the theatre and excelled at each facet of the boards, but  “The Cherry Orchard,” Anton Chekov, ended my fun, my excellence, and my theatre career with the Players. I’d still be working with them today if it weren’t for that horrible experience. 

No, never again will I serve as Grand Poohbah of anything.