The Best Reward: More N2N with Brian Yorkey

by Brian Yorkey, book and lyrics for Next to Normal

It's all a bit much.

I'm sitting in Radio City Music Hall watching Aaron Tveit rehearse his portion of the Tony Awards opening number. I'm sworn to secrecy about the contents, but let me just say this: you won't be bored. The whole production seems kind of astounding from where I'm sitting, with lights chasing and giant video screens and the word "Tony" everywhere you look. This is the camera blocking rehearsal (it's Thursday morning as I type), so the television people and the personnel from each show crowd the stage and the house, and the cameras are flying on booms, and people with responsibilities run urgently back and forth while I sit here, overwhelmed.

I promised to blog about this "in-between time" in this week running up to the awards ceremony Sunday night. It's been a remarkable time in many ways, finding ourselves a part of the theatre community in a way we maybe hadn't before, and especially a part of the Tony tradition. There've been a pile of interviews and events, and many opportunities to meet heroes of mine, including the famed  "nominees-only" Tony luncheon. It's great. And it's a lot. Everyone keeps telling me to "make sure you enjoy it," and while I couldn't be more pleased at the recognition our show has received, and all the doors that are opening, at this point "fun" is more "just trying to keep up."

I do try to keep in mind a couple things. First, this is a tremendous ending to the very unlikely Next to Normal story. In my first blog entry, I talked about the amazing experience we had at Arena, the penultimate step in a long journey for this show. Not only did we  never dream we'd be down there  in DC, we certainly never dreamed we'd make it to Broadway.  From there on, it's all above and beyond anything we ever expected. I see the Tony nods, in particular, as a great celebration of all the people who worked so hard on Next to Normal, cast, crew, staff, and supporters—from the BMI Workshop to Village Theatre in Seattle to Second Stage in New York to Arena Stage in Washington (and "the Crystal City") to the Booth Theatre on 45th Street in New York. And wherever I get to go as a Tony nominee, I represent all those folks. And that's cool.

The second thing I try to remember is that none of this is real. I mean, it is, but it isn't. This world of sparkling lights and big awards shows and black-tie events is incredibly special, and I wouldn't trade the experience for anything, but come Monday morning  
it all evaporates into the ether (or the mists of theater history, or whatever florid metaphor you want) and we go back to the real world.  Well, as real as the theater world ever is. We go back to working on the next show, and figuring out how to solve the problems and find the right collaborators and get the show produced. We go back to work.

Someone once told me that the best reward for work well done is the opportunity to do more. At overwhelming times like this, it's good to keep in mind.

Comments

[Sandra N. Dower]

Brian: You will never know just how much N2N meant to me, the child of a bi-polar mother long before any medications were available. You nailed it, especially the feelings of the girl in the song, "I'm Invisible." I saw the show at the Arena Stage; my son is David Dower. He knew it would be a difficult evening, but he also knew it would help put some demons to rest. I look forward to the next play you do.