Somehow, the world had conspired against me and I wasn’t going to make it. This is what I told myself as I sprinted through Times Square en route to the NY PopsUp event on Saturday. I was one of 150 audience members, most of whom were frontline workers and volunteers at the Actor’s Fund and Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS, invited to sit scattered throughout the St. James Theatre. It had been a little more than a year since New York’s theaters went to dark at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, and with the state having eased restrictions for public performances on Friday, this was to be Broadway’s soft open. We had no clue who was performing or what the performance entailed, as details had been kept top secret leading up to the event. Still, as a lifelong theatergoer and self-identified theater kid, I was determined not to miss it.
There were strict rules about entry. All guests had to provide one of the following: (1) proof of a negative PCR test taken within 72 hours of the event, (2) proof of a negative antigen rapid test taken within six hours of the performance, or (3) verification of being 14 days past the completion of a vaccine series. Masks would be required at all times and there would be no late entry or reentry. Having received my second Moderna shot seven days prior (you can now call me Thoroughly Moderna Millie), I decided to go the rapid-test route, waking up early on Saturday and heading to my local CityMD. That portion of the day’s program was over and done by 10:30 a.m., and I was told I’d be emailed with my results 15 minutes after my appointment. However, as showtime drew closer, the email with my results—my golden ticket allowing me entry into a Broadway theater for the first time in 14 months—had not hit my inbox.
After pacing around my apartment refreshing my inbox, I decided to head to the theater. Surely, the email would magically appear on my half hour journey to the St. James. But, when I got off the subway at 42nd street, I still hadn’t received my results. I began to run through Times Square like a madman, as I had done so many times in my pre-COVID life, praying I’d get to the theater in time to explain my situation and not miss the show. It was clear when I arrived 10 minutes to curtain and 20 minutes after my designated arrival slot that there would be no sweet-talking the ushers into letting me in without proof of a negative rapid test. This was, obviously, a good thing as COVID-19 precautions are nothing to play with, but was frustrating at the time. Right when I was ready to give up, I was able to get someone on the phone from CityMD who informed me that they had “forgotten to put my test in the system” (whatever that means) and that I should be receiving an email with my result any moment. A few incredibly tense seconds later, I was sitting in the St. James, which felt cavernous and oddly empty with only 150 of its more than 1,600 seats filled with famished theatergoers ready for their first live show in over a year.
And, boy, were we fed. Directed by four-time Tony winner Jerry Zaks, the show began with Tony Award winner and tap dancer Savion Glover performing an improvisational routine on a raised platform in the center of the stage, surrounded by a few amps and a microphone. Glover tapped away as he simultaneously sang lines from popular shows like Cats, A Chorus Line, and Dreamgirls and made jokes about auditioning for Broadway super-producer Scott Rudin. At one point, Glover tapped so ferociously that he knocked over a piece of audio equipment, temporarily messing up the sound until a member of the tech crew came out and fixed it during his performance. The happy accident encapsulated the epitome of live theater; it was unexpected, unplanned, and undeniably human. Throughout the ordeal, Glover didn’t miss a beat.
“I was a little nervous, but I was elated, and happy, and there was nostalgia, and I was sentimental—it was everything,” Glover said in an interview with The New York Times afterward. “And I felt very safe. I want to be rubbing elbows and hugging—we’re looking for that eventually—but there’s no more safe place than right in the middle of that stage.”
After Glover’s tap masterclass, three-time Tony Award winner Nathan Lane came out onto the empty stage and delivered a monologue written by playwright Paul Rudnick about a man who’s spent the last year stuck in his apartment, separated from the love of his life, the theater. In the piece, Lane recounts a dream where one by one Hugh Jackman, Patti LuPone, and Audra McDonald stumble into his studio apartment and offer to give him a private concert. It was full of inside baseball theater references, from jokes about Madonna’s Evita movie to LuPone’s penchant for wielding cell phones as weapons. The only thing that could have made Lane’s monologue better is if Jackman, LuPone, and McDonald actually did appear at the end, socially distanced of course. “These are baby steps toward a real reopening,” Lane said to The New York Times. “It’s a way of signaling to everyone that we’re coming back.”
Glover and Lane came out for their requisite curtain call, which, naturally, received a standing ovation, and just like that it was over. We were then told to sit in our seats, until ushers carefully gave us permission, row by row, to exit the theater. After the performance, I couldn’t help but linger under the marquee. I found it difficult to walk away from the theater, unsure of exactly when I’d get the chance to spend the afternoon in a Broadway theater again. I eventually left knowing I’d be back soon enough, sprinting through Times Square to make curtain, arriving with seconds to spare.
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