Laura McCullagh ’18 (center) in rehearsal for Who Will Carry the Word. Photo: Dante Haughton ’19

By Laura McCullagh ’17

For the final week of rehearsals before tech week, Rebecca Marzalek-Kelly, our wonderful director, requested that the cast wear all black. In previous rehearsals, I had enjoyed wearing leggings printed to look like space, a big blue corduroy shirt, or any of the colorful and very cozy scarves that anyone who knows me knows I depend on when it starts getting cold. When Rebecca mentioned this new rule at the end of that Thursday evening, I silently berated myself for procrastinating packing for school until the last minute and accidentally leaving so much of my black clothing at home. She continued, however, by explaining that by all dressing in black, we would be giving ourselves a uniform. This sank in for a moment. Quickly, the pile of black shirts on the floor of my closet at home was pushed out of my mind.

In addition to my role as an actor, I work in the costume shop. I have not been able to spend as much time down there as I would like of late, what with rehearsals and the all-encompassing nature of being a student. But when I have been down there, one color reigns supreme: grey. Grey fabric is draped over hangers and the backs of chairs, fished out of grey dye baths, and stitched together with grey thread. And oh, how much grey thread there is: spools upon spools of it are emptied and replaced with yet more of the same. As work progresses, the costume rack fills up with a multitude of uniform grey dresses. Each is made to the specifications of an actor’s body, but beyond that they are perfectly identical.

On the first day of rehearsal after Rebecca’s request, I arrived at the theater wearing a sandy-colored corduroy coat, one of my aforementioned colorful scarves, and a yellow sweater. I shed my layers, leaving a small pile of colors next to my bag, and found myself in a black tank top, black leggings, and the black shoes that my character wears. I will take a moment here to explain that in my day-to-day life I really do dig the all black look. I love being backstage where I can work in the shadowy depths of the theater, making “magic” happen where nobody can see me. I love donning a purely witchy ensemble, shrouding myself in layers of cozy, dark folds of fabric. But something about this black outfit was different. As I entered the space that is designated as the Auschwitz barracks, I looked around at my cast mates and was overwhelmed by sameness.

As we introduce costumes and makeup, we as actors become blank vessels for the story and its characters to inhabit. We leave behind our reality of brightness and enter a liminal space where we have been stripped of all that makes us who we are. It is painful. It hurts to put on these dresses and paint frost on our faces. It hurts to look around at these women I have grown to know and love and see them hidden behind layers of ambiguity carefully crafted to hide who they really are.

But at the end of the night, I am lucky enough to have a package of makeup wipes and a yellow sweater waiting for me in the dressing room.

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Laura McCullagh ’17 is a staff writer for the Skidmore Theater Living Newsletter.