Last year, our ten-year-old performed in a children’s production of The Wizard of Oz as the Mayor of Munchkin City at the Fire Hall Theatre in Grand Forks.  I, a very grumpy grump of a grump and a complete theater snob, cannot say enough nice things about the whole business.  The production team was great.  The rehearsal schedule was great.  The staging was great.  The theater (or theatre, I guess) was great.  The performances – I attended all nine because I am a LOT – were great.  Ten’s experience (and afterglow) was great.  Great, great, great. 

Obviously, this year, when the Fire Hall announced they were doing another children’s production with the same director – this time Finding Nemo – we signed Ten up for an audition.

“I’m going to be Nemo,” Ten told me matter-of-factly as we drove into the parking lot for the audition call-backs.

“Whatever part you get is going to be the perfect part for you,” I told him.  Earlier this summer, Ten had auditioned to be an Oompa-Loompa in a different theater’s production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  He had not received a role.  It was the first time Ten, the world’s sunshine-iest sunshine had ever been rejected for something and it had thrown him behind a dark cloud.  “And if you don’t get a part, then that means there is another perfect part for you somewhere else.  So just have fun and do your best and be yourself.”

“Okay,” he said, “But I’m going to be Nemo.”

“Again,” I told him, “Whatever part you get will be the awesomest.  Have fun and do your best and be yourself.”

“I’ll be Nemo,” he said, getting out of the car.

“Be yourself,” I said, calling after him.

“Nemo,” he called back.

“Yourself,” I called back.

Wouldn’t you know it, that little goober got the role of Nemo.

The stage play Finding Nemo is based on the Disney-Pixar movie Finding Nemo.  If you haven’t seen one or either, the premise is this: Nemo is the only guppie of a widowed (it wouldn’t be a Disney movie without a dead parent) clownfish named Marlin.  Marlin is incredibly overprotective of Nemo not just because of the single-parent-single-child thing, but also because one of Nemo’s fins is smaller than the other.  On Nemo’s first day of school (har har fish joke), Marlin freaks out about the vast dangers of the open ocean, they fight, and Nemo swims off…only to be caught by a human and put into an aquarium with other “rescued” fish.  The rest of the movie/play is Marlin attempting to get to Nemo and Nemo attempting to get back to his father.  Spoiler: they reunite, having learned valuable lessons along the way.

While the movie is a talkie, the stage play is very much a musical.  Very, very, very much a musical.  Very very.  Very.  I’m not sure where the line is drawn between an opera and a musical, but Finding Nemo definitely skirts that line.  Fortunately, the songs are really cute; I’d argue that the play is better than the movie because the music is so fun.  For example, in one scene Marlin encounters a group of sharks who have reformed their carnivorous ways and hold AA-style meetings to keep them from not eating fish.  In the movie, the sharks repeat the phrase, “Fish are friends, not food.”  In the play, they sing a song of the same title with banger lines like this,

“The stress of life in the ocean / will lead to emotional eating / when you need help gettin’ through it / and kelp just won’t do it / don’t start feeding / swim to our meeting.”

As the title character in a play that is predominantly music, our little Nemo has a lot of songs to sing.

Rehearsals started last week.  On Sunday, the four Kosiors were hanging out in the living room half-watching what was turning out to be a boring football game.

“Let’s get your book and run through your songs,” I suggested to Ten, who had been quietly humming the songs for most of the second quarter.  “I bet you can have them memorized by the end of this game.”

“Okay!”  Ten said.  He ran off to retrieve his script while I pulled up the music tracks on my phone.  He snuggled back in beside me, flipped open to a random page, and started singing the song on the page in its entirety.

“Very good,” I said, “Except that you should only practice your own part so you don’t get confused on stage and sing someone else’s part.”

“Okay,” he said, disappointed.

“You be Nemo, I’ll be everyone else,” I told him.

Fourteen got up and left the room.  Kyle sat up like he wanted to do the same, went through some kind of mental battle where his desire to support his son outweighed his fight-or-flight response to avoid his wife’s singing, and laid back down.

I pulled up the music track.

I am actually a pretty good singer in a very, very, very narrow portfolio of music.  Very very.  Very.  Specifically, there are roughly ten songs in this universe that I can sing really well.  None of those songs are from the musical Finding Nemo.

The first scene begins with a bit of dialogue, and so Ten read his and I read the rest, switching voices between the characters, which Ten found funny.  We reached the song.  I started the music.  Ten sang his line, I sang the next ten or so lines (again, which Ten found funny), Kyle sat up again and remained sitting, Ten and I sang together, Ten sang the last line, and the music concluded.

“That was great,” I told him.  “Didn’t he do a good job, Kyle?”

“Yes, HE did a good job,” Kyle said, not looking at me.

“You don’t need to sing, you know,” Ten told me.  “You can play the rehearsal tracks where other people sing.”

“I like to sing,” I told Ten.  “Besides, if we play the rehearsal track you’ll hear someone else singing Nemo and you won’t memorize your lines.”

“Oh, okay,” Ten said.  “But maybe you can try singing like the music this time.”

“What do you mean?”  I asked.

“You were off-key,” Kyle said.

“That was my interpretation of the music,” I told them, which was a flat lie.  “I decided that all of the characters would sing a half-step lower.”

“But you were singing with the music sometimes,” Ten said.

“That was also my interpretation,” I said.  “I was adding flair.”

“Oh, okay,” Ten said.

We practiced for another hour.  Ten had his songs and most of his lines down pat by the end.  Kyle figured out a way to fully separate from his body and stayed completely frozen in place on the couch the whole time.  I accidentally added interpretive flair to every song.

“That was great,” I said.  “Great, great, great.  And very Nemo-y.”

“Yep, I’m Nemo,” Ten said, matter-of-factly.

“They’ll probably make Mom an understudy after all that,” Kyle said, regaining consciousness.

“Probably not,” Ten told him, also matter-of-factly.

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The photo above is what Nemo would look like if he went go-karting. If you would like to donate to the Fire Hall Theatre, please click here.

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This week on North Dakota Today we talked about veterans Bryant Barstad and Craig Danula, my Nice People of the Week, as well as a street in Grand Forks bringing spooky cheer to kids at Halloween. (Valley News Live)

Here’s the first paragraph of my most recent column in the Grand Forks Herald: “October is a particularly nice month to be in North Dakota, and when a Saturday in North Dakota is not only crisp and apple-spiced but also filled to the brim with sunshine … well, we’re basically required by Midwestern law to take advantage of it.”(Grand Forks Herald)

Mandan has a beautiful new alley. (KX Net, found via Oops Only Good News)

Minot is seeking Santas for seniors. (KX Net)

The Great Plains Food Bank has hit the road with 8 truckload of food for 24,000 North Dakotans. (Grand Forks Herald)

Grand Forks’ Sara Berg has been honored with the McKinney-Vento Liaison of the Year Award for supporting homeless youth in the school district. (Grand Forks Herald)

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