Madison Long
Life Editor
Emme’s done this three or four times.
She’s defeated giant fluffy monsters with non gluten-free bread, lost a hamster, corrected Ashley A. that her name is pronounced E-muh and reluctantly choked down broccoli. But this time is different.
Inside the Bistline Theatre, her light-up turquoise sneakers are caked with mud.
“Time for bed, Squirrel!” her dad (played by Andrew Pingry) calls, stepping into her blue, diamond-lit room.
“Dad, my name is Emme,” she sighs – she reminds him nearly every day.
She’s wishing she has a chance to remind him one more time as she weaves between the long shadows of the forest. Emme (played by Addalyn Steele) regrets her decision to come out of hero retirement for the whispers of the woods.
April has never been Emme’s favorite time of the year, with school exams looming and her dad no longer letting her play in the woods.
It wasn’t always that way.
April 17 and 18 once meant summer was just around the corner. April 23, 24, and 25 meant long hours in the basement, painting alongside her mom’s favorite character to portray – mild-mannered research therapist Professor Popsicle. The Professor might forget the little things, but she never forgot to remind Emme why her art mattered and why she shouldn’t throw it away.
But–
“Things are different now!” screams Emme.
Her mind flashes through everything that’s happened so far. Each world entered is another one lost.
At the center of it all is The Something, What began as two separate, hooded figures, manageable and plausible, has only doubled and tripled in size. It takes its victims quietly, only leaving behind a sympathetic myriad of flowers and cards.
“More bones,” The Something hisses, its voice following Emme like a sickness she can’t shake.
Even the group’s quiet observer, Coyote, hasn’t gone unnoticed. Though Madison Kerr’s careful study of coyote movement and sound have allowed her to blend seamlessly into the background.
But before Emme can rely on Coyote – or Coyote’s alter ego, Professor Popsicle – the creature strikes.
The Something’s dark, faceless form lunges forward, its nails curling around Coyote’s patchwork skirt and orange cardigan.
ISU associate professor of theatre Jef Petersen had his eyes peeled on the performance. He’s seen it a million times – through his students and in his head for 30 years. Originally inspired by a childhood question – what happened after the horse Artax sinks into the mud in The NeverEnding Story – the play spiraled into the imaginative universe shaped by the stories Peterson built with his children.
Swashbuckle Bay’s Captain Feignwell, Captain L.I.S.A’s guide of Space, the ghost artist eyeballs of Oculara, Bunnicorn and the musical stylings of the extended Ponyverse (featuring everyone’s favorite studious Dusky Dazzle and apple-loving and country-bumpkin Pomme Cheval) are just a few parts of the creative collaboration by the ISU production team.
“The biggest thing I learned is how beautiful having a childlike imagination can be even as we get older because we tend to lose that as we get into our adulthood,” said Kerr, a third year student majoring in psychology and sociology with a minor in theatre. “We’re just so stressed, but the beauty of creativity and imagination is something that we should all cherish.”
For Emme though, imagination is no longer simple.
In all her nine years, each time that she’s been sent to save the world one swoop of her glittered sword, The Raging Flaming Sword of Destiny, has vanquished her enemies with a comedic ta-da!
But Emme has lost everything – Dusky Dazzle, the Ponyverse, that brief stint in Discoville, Frida Kahlo and her flower crown, the starry night of Van Gogh.
The Something looms larger than ever, its black, veiny tendrils swirling to snag Emme’s pigtails.
If only she could remember.
“Remember Emme. Remember. Remember,” chant the last of her companions.
This is the last stand. And for the first time, Emme understands that she can’t save everyone.
Deep down, she knows that but the guilt remains. The hamster; the artwork; in her mind it all connects to her mother getting sick, to the bone transplant, to her mother leaving.
Drawing on the last of her strength, Steele begins to sing.
The moment bridges character and performer. Through Emme, Steele delivers a quiet realization that ‘sometimes getting out of bed is a heroic act,’ that not everyone can be pleased and that feeling grief is to be felt, not fixed.
As Steele finishes, she looks out at the crowd. Girls in prom dresses, young children with stuffies and tough dads stare back at her, their eyes glassy.
It’s all come down to this.
It’s all down to Emme.
“I’ve been doing theater for years now, and it’s not easy. It takes time, effort, and understanding what you need to give emotionally,” said Steele, a third year theatre major. “There’s so many different art forms that people don’t really go and see as much anymore, but I think it’s important for people to experience those things because it’s not the same as going to watch a movie in the theaters. You’re experiencing it live.”
Now that Emme’s run has concluded, consider catching the summer performances of the Dear Evan Hansen musical in the Bistline Theatre June 12, 13, 15, 18 and 20 at 7:30 p.m.