For the last six months, I'd been slated to direct a theatrical adaptation of Ken Kesey's literary masterpiece One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest at The Vortex. From the get go, I knew it was going to be a big project. I'd need sixteen actors, a stale mental institution set, props ranging from tiny old bottles of medication to a reel-to-reel player and an old gurney, costumes like white tops and pants for the staff down to hospital scrubs and silly underwear for the patients. When you direct a play at The Vortex, you pretty much produce the entire thing as well. There was no way I could do this on my own, so I started tapping the shoulders of many of my friends in the theatre community.

I started with the local thespian super heroes Hardman and Robyn. It had been 13 years since anyone had staged a production of Cuckoo's Nest in Albuquerque, and the man who directed it was the one and only John Hardman (Robyn was his stage manager). Not only do I respect this quirky and perverted thespian in his 50s, but I also consider him a good friend. When he initially and strongly discouraged me from doing the project, I knew I had to do it. After the show proposal was approved by the theatre, I offered Hardman the opportunity to design and build the set. I asked Robyn to be my props master. They both agreed, and from that moment on, I knew the play would turn out all right.

The research was slow and deliberate. Read the book, watch the movie (only twice), map out the character flow, find the motivation behind the lines, and know intent of the script inside and out. I could go on and on about what the play represents, but anyone who knows anything already realizes the potency of Kesey's rebellious tale. This column is about the nuts and bolts of getting a show done, and I still had designers to recruit. I found a light designer in Pepe, costume designer in Camilla, and sound designer in Willy. Cheyenne and Cassie, the perky stage managers from my two previous directorial efforts (Catch-22 and High Life), once again answered the call of duty. The tech crew fell into place before auditions, and I was ready to cast this sucker.

On a weekend in mid-April, 52 people answered the open call for actors. I precast no one and considered everyone who walked in the door. Being a thespian for the last four years, I've worked with dozens of actors, but I was surprise how few of them jumped at the chance to be in this powerful play. Nevertheless, I had a quality person in almost every part including local pro Vic Browder as the free wheeling Randle P. MacMurphy and a just-moved-to-town-from-Seattle mature vixen named Dodie Montgomery as the motherly bitch Nurse Ratched. At the end of auditions, I had everything but a big Chief Bromden. It was the one part I knew would be difficult to find. Even in the New Mexican desert, it's hard to find big Native American actors. An actress gave me the number of a guy she worked out at the gym with, and he agreed to meet me the next day. He was name was David Weigand, 6'2 with bulging arms and chest. The good looking 3/4 Navajo hadn't acted much but was willing to dedicate himself to a six-week, three-hour Monday thru Thursday rehearsal process. That's what I asked from all 16 of my actors, and we were ready to create a play.

One week of readthroughs, two weeks of blocking, a week of working quarters (off book), a night of working each act, two rough runthroughs, and a week of tech and polish. It many ways the time flew by like a crazy cuckoo. Pumped early with enthusiasm, my cast responded with high attendance and excellent dedication to working up their characters. It stunned me how smoothly the whole process flowed. Even hiccups that came along the way ended up being minor bumps in the road. When I had to replace the one unreliable actress in the cast three days before opening, the new girl stepped into the brief role without missing a beat.

The tech side came out nothing short of outstanding for community theatre. Hardman and about ten cronies (including me) built a gray, stale institution with an imposing nurses station, old school microphone hook ups, a flash pot for the Big Machine's demise, and a painted checker floor with almost two hundred gray and white two-foot squares. The best set I've ever had as a director. Robyn came through with dozens of obscure props, Pepe used every working dimmer and then some as we maxed out the meager Vortex light system, Camilla put clothes on everyone, and Willy got me nice accents including a creepy version of the Cuckoo nursery rhyme. Brought in and taught the light and sound ops the cues. Programs and posters. Paint the billboard. Talk to the local newspaper arts reporters. In a world full of people demanding to be compensated for doing next to nothing, dozens of people lent a helping hand in putting up this production, and none of them were paid a dime. The free spirit of Ken Kesey truly came through in making the project work. All in the name of Cuckoo.

The show opened this Friday, and I was more nervous about it than any other play I directed. Mostly because I knew what my people were capable of, and if they hit it right, it would be truly powerful and beautiful. The story is a roller coaster of emotions. Crass and polite jokes, break downs, scolding, breakthroughs, insults, abuse, redemption, drunkenness, swearing, violence and revelations. All to save one Big Chief from the fears that have beaten him down for years. When the curtain call came, the crowd rose to their feet with a wave of applause. It was an overwhelming feeling.

Now it is an endurance challenge for my cast and crew as they must pull off 12 performances. As I slowly step away from the picture, they have three more weekends to tell the story and show their stuff to the public. I will always remember that in June of 2004, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest at The Vortex, and one crazy director can't help but laugh at how well it came together.

Chris Jungle is getting the hang of this director thang.