The Travelator Diaries:: There ain't nothin' like a little bit o' high school drama

“Miss Julia, may you take a look at the script I wrote?”

It was a simple request, but I wanted to hug my Form 5 student, *Ana, and leap for joy. What? A student wrote a script in ENGLISH out of her own initiative AND was coming to me to talk about it AND wanted to gather some of her friends to perform it at our school’s annual Talent Show? I was on cloud nine.

*Names of students have been changed.

I had a good chuckle over the script—young love, cheating boyfriends, jealousy, intrigue, epic showdowns, oh you know, the typical high school drama. After editing it and discussing the merits of various idiomatic expressions, I sent her on her way. She and her friends performed at our school’s talent show. The teachers laughed, the students cheered, and that was that. Or so I thought.

Fast-forward a couple of weeks. One Tuesday afternoon my mentor approaches me clutching one of those official-looking documents that I’ve learned to become so wary of. There was going to be a district English Speech/Debate/Drama Competition in less than three weeks and we needed to submit the names of our school’s participants by… Wednesday! What?! Tomorrow?! We racked our brains for which of our students could possibly be ready in time. Aha! What about Ana’s skit from the talent show!

I approached Ana and her friends with a whole arsenal of persuasion tactics running through my head. Luckily though, there was no need to bribe them with “authentic” American baked goods (“Well… would you do it if I baked you dark chocolate brownies—with sprinkles?”). No sooner had the possibility of entering their drama into the competition passed my lips, they were nodding furiously, eyes literally sparkling. I was ready for my kids to cover their faces and bolt, crying, “Noooooo teaaachhhaaaa. Cannnnoootttt!” (as some of my students are wont to do) and here they were grinning at me enthusiastically! What an unexpected reaction! Man, I love these kids.

And thus the intensive preparations began. Together with Ana, I helped iron out the storyline, which, while thoroughly entertaining, rollercoastered from one implausibility to the next. How a simple high school breakup scene devolved into a massive knife fight involving a hitman who’d been hired for 1 million dollars (because that’s totally within an angsty high school boy’s budget), I’ll never understand. But, with some additional transitions and motive clarifications, Twists of Fate was born. (Yes, the title just ooooozes melodramatic, doesn’t it.)

Rehearsals were both a joy and a challenge. It was a joy because, well, my kids are awesome. I loved watching them grow as actors and getting to know them outside of the classroom. I loved seeing the pride in their eyes after the last run-through of each day’s long rehearsal.

It was a challenge because trying to convince 12 different students that multiple after-school practices were a necessity for success was a daily battle. It was a challenge because re-doing a scene time and time again could be a total pain. It was a challenge because I had to convince my students that THEY NEEDED TO SPEAK LOUDLY SO THE AUDIENCE COULD ACTUALLY HEAR THEM. Clearly they were taking the term “stage whisper” way too literally.

They were at first a bit taken aback when I’d pause a scene, march onto stage, and exaggeratedly overact their part and explain for them to do it like that, but even more. They balked. You want us to do what? They did take my advice though and soon started adding their own little bits of flair that had me rolling with laughter.

Sam, the hero, took “besotted suitor” to a whole new level with his priceless gawking expressions during the intro scene where he and the heroine make eye contact for the first time and circle each other in slow-motion to “Just the Way you Are”. (The play might have its knife fights, but it sure has its fair share of cheesy.) Aliff definitely got down overeactive-playboy-boyfriend-loserface to the tee. Ana perfected her sob scenes. Shaz, the hitman, cracked his knuckles menacingly and developed a smirk and saunter as he came to embrace his inner thug. Fez, the heroine’s best friend, challenged the hitman in what could only be described as a Superman reenactment. And, when I told the normally soft-spoken Sue to better embody the narcissistic boyfriend-stealer, she suddenly became a hand-on-hip, eye-rolling, sassy diva who could rival any self-proclaimed valley-girl (minus the accent of course).

A low point came the day before the competition. Fez was normally the student who was the most outgoing, the most talkative, the most enthusiastic, and the most overdramatic (I mean, even in class, this guy always has something to say. Whether it is ever relevant or grammatically correct is another matter). However, suddenly he was the most depressing creature to watch on the planet. What should have been a comedic scene, was portrayed as though it were an incredibly unpleasant funeral. Staring dejectedly at the ceiling, Fez carelessly mumbled his lines. He listlessly trailed after his fellow actor Nadie who cast helpless glances at the other students. Fez’s dark mood sucked out the joy from the air like one of those dastardly Malaysian Borneo leeches. My actors exchanged worried looks, shuffling awkwardly, their enthusiasm beginning to fade. I knew I needed to act fast.

I pulled Fez aside.

What’s wrong?

He said he not excited to perform.

But you were so excited yesterday.

He too scared of performing.

How is that true, you performed at the Talent show! In THREE performances throughout the day!

Yes, but tomorrow in front of other people.

And your performance in front of the school was not in front of other people?

I was flabbergasted (not to mention slightly exasperated). This conversation went on in a sort of circular/illogical fashion for a while, where I could not make head or tail of his newfound shyness. I realized that Fez, the hilarious attention-monger, had a severe case of stage fright and it was up to me to snap him out of it. I’d like to say I gave a long speech worthy of one of those sports movie grand-finale moments complete with soaring, tearjerker orchestral music. I would love to say that after listening to my inspiring soliloquy, tears sprung into Fez’s eyes and with clenched fists he cried, “YES TEACHA! YOU ARE RIGHT, THERE IS NOTHING TO BE SCARED OF---I WILL DO MY BEST!”

Of course this was not the case. But hey, after my pep-talk at least he did give an acknowledging mumble and after disappearing to go sulk for half an hour came back to perform the scene with a renewed spring in his step and a quippy comment or two to throw in. Thank god, he was back.

Competition day rolled in. My students were excited, but definitely nervous. I watched them eye the competing schools with their elaborate costumes and their painted stage props. Fez was being awfully quiet again. Uh oh. During the wait, the rest of the group found solace, not to mention endless amusement, in taking innumerable selfies and asian-peace-sign pictures of each other.

The bell dinged and the first school strutted on stage. They pranced about in courtly garb and were my ears deceiving me? Were they addressing someone named Desdemona? Say what?! Are Malaysian high schoolers seriously performing Othello? Did my kids even stand a chance? I tried to hide my concern. In the end, it was a well-acted, but accusations of infidelity and long drawn out writhey death scenes could hardly be called a crowd pleaser (especially given the fact that the audience was comprised mainly of a mob of rowdy high school boys from the host school). A Malaysian rendition of Rumplestiltskin followed. Next was a well meaning but rather lackluster rendition of Romeo and Juliet. I guess our school was the only one who didn’t get the “Please appropriate the classics” memo.

We were up next. I hastily pep-talked my kids. Once again, I’d love to say that I gave a moving speech that my students will quote to their grandchildren. What really happened: I told Sam to “Go break a leg!” and he looked back at me simply horrified, "Oh no, Teacha!" I had to assure him that the expression was actually a good thing. (Made a note to self: include an explanation of this phrase in a future lesson on idioms.)

My students got up there and rocked it. Sure there were a few mishaps, but they continued as if nothing had happened. Fez, despite some initial nervousness, warmed up and soon was over-acting and making silly off-handed comments in his usual way. I took it as a good sign that the mob of boys in the audience cheered and catcalled at generally opportune moments and seemed to be genuinely enjoying the show. Sure, Othello, Rumplestiltskin, and Romeo and Juliet are Classics, but high schoolers inevitably love watching a story they can relate to. And who doesn’t love a cheesy love story replete betrayal, revenge, new-found love, and an epic battle scene?

After my students had finished performing, the mob of boys vied for my attention: “Psstt. Teacha! Teacha!” I feigned deafness at first; being hooted at by hormonal high school boys was an all too familiar situation. The persisted, so I turned bemused. I was however pleasantly surprised when they all gave me enthusiastic thumbs up signs in response to our performance. Thumbs up: the accolades of teenage boys. I took it as the highest of compliments.

The judges seemed to share their expert sentiments and my students received 2^nd place. Hooray! Plus, the drama received 1^st place for “Best Original Skit.” Woohoo Ana! My students were absolutely giddy with excitement. They had actually beaten the Science school, one of the highest scoring schools in the entire state. Not too shabby for a rural school who’d never placed at an English drama competition before! I guess there really was a twist of fate.

Some moments from drama rehearsal: