I was ten when I saw my first play—Cyrano de Bergerac at the Grand Rapids Civic Theatre. To say I was captivated doesn’t quite cover it. I was spellbound. Not just by the story, but by the alchemy of it all—the lights, the language, the living moment of theatre.
Within a few years, I was taking acting classes and performing on that same stage. That’s where I met Paul Dreher—who had directed Cyrano and ran the Civic Theatre. He cast me in a production of Peter Pan and quickly became a mentor. He gave me real responsibility and trusted me to rise to it—and I did. He helped me fall in love with theatre and showed me I had a place in it.
Paul was more than a theatre mentor. He taught me about fly fishing. About jazz. How to make good barbeque- you know, the important things. When I turned 21, he bought me my first Guinness. When he passed away, my heart broke. I was in North Carolina, coincidentally directing Peter Pan when I got the call to come home. I delivered Paul’s eulogy on the very stage where I had first seen Cyrano.
I carry Paul with me every day. I’ve held his memory especially close these past few months as I worked through the process of adapting the play from Rostand’s original. (I’ve even kept some of the French in it.) Hearing those words come alive with this group of clever, spirited actors has been a joy. They’ve given such robust life to the romance, wit, poetry, and swaggering comic brio that is intrinsic to this piece. The play still feels alive, urgent, and immediate to me—the passion and verse just as fervent and florid as ever, but tailored for this moment—for you.
It’s hard to concisely state what it means to direct Cyrano de Bergerac now, all these decades later, and to do it here in Richmond—my adopted hometown. Everything I’ve done in the forty-plus years since I first saw it has, in some way, been about chasing and sharing the magic of that first experience. James Ricks, Artistic Director of Richmond Shakespeare, made space for this to happen. James and I share a love of bold language, muscular storytelling, and fearless collaboration. His belief in me is a rich gift. In many ways, James has reminded me of what it felt like to be championed by Paul: not as a student, but as an artist. This opportunity feels both full-circle and wide open.
Cyrano DeBergerac is a story of honor. Of heartbreak. Of holding fast to your principles even when they leave you lonely. And it’s a reminder that courage doesn’t always look like a sword raised in battle—sometimes it looks like silence or sacrifice.
Thank you, James, for this time—and for all the hard, invisible, imaginative work you do that comes from a relentless love of craft.
Andrew Gall, Director & Adaptor
