BWW Blog: Siobhan O'Loughlin - Broken Bone Bathtub: Minnesota Fringe 

Minneapolis was the second US city I performed this show in, and it was also the first theatre festival I performed this show in. It's safe to say this was also the first bathtub show this theatre festival has ever had.

I say that loosely, because I don't really know, but I do know that this is the first show to ever sell out the Minnesota Fringe before the festival even began. That's because most of the shows are in actual theatres, and they all can seat more than seven people.

Whatever.

Sold out? You bet.

I performed at Robin Gillette's house for two weeks straight. She gave her space to me. Her cat Pip was sort of okay with that. If Minnesota Theatre had a "main squeeze," it would be Robin. If there was some sort of scoring for "Who to Know in Midwestern Theatre," it would be Robin. She used to run the Fringe, she used to live in NYC, she currently hustles the lives and spirits of many performing artists-including me-she is a legend and a hero and a huge help to the artists who are lucky to know her.

And she's got a bloody gorgeous bathtub.

I know that some readers who haven't seen the show are still trying to figure me out: what is this play and what do you do in there?
I can tell you this much: I am wearing my cast in the bathtub. You as the audience member act as my friend. You listen to my story, you help in the bath with whatever I ask, and you talk to me when I ask you questions. That's about as much as I can say that makes sense without you seeing it, I think.

I can't really reveal too much more, because each show is different and the audience contributes to it every time. I can give an honorable mention during our sold-out-run here that we did have The Weirdest Audience Member Experience I've Ever Had, but since I can't betray What Happens in the Room, I can't exactly write about it in public platform. Shout out to my "bouncer" for the evening, Craig Vandershaegan, whose wide-eyed expression I will never forget.

More importantly, though, for me, was the Artist Showing of Broken Bone Bathtub, for my fellow touring artist pals who weren't able to see the show otherwise.

I want to mention first that I had another completely random bike wreck while I was in Minneapolis. I don't know how it happened; this is the first time I'd been on a bike since my accident (that's 7 months!) I was going downhill and a gear jammed, I think, or something; and I spilled over into the streets while going downhill. I instinctually grabbed my left arm with my right, to protect it (it's the one that was broken) and consequently Completely Wrecked my right arm, at least in terms of there being blood everywhere and quite a bit of skin gone from my elbow and right knuckles.

Darnit.

"You look like a cage fighter." Scot Moore laughed and shook his head as I whined/cried/pathetically mourned my fate while he patiently bandaged me up in his apartment. (I also had a bloody eye. It had been a week.)

Right, so the touring artist showing at the Minnesota Fringe.

This includes a pretty all-star cast: Rory Ledbetter, Les Kurkendaal, Karim Muasher and Carrie Brown of Animal Engine, Motz (my personal Fringe BFF), Antonia Lassar, Bay Bryan, Artem Yatsunov, Vanessa Quesnelle and one of my personal theatre heroes and inspirations, Martin Dockery, both of Concrete Drops.

All stars.

We did a matinee of the performance (since we all perform at night) and the artists squeezed into Robin's bathroom to watch the show.

Readers, imagine it: a small room for intimate immersive theatre full of extremely sensitive and empathetic artists.

Oh my lord.

Martin Dockery was in the "hot seat," meaning he was in the spot right by my head in bathtub. Normally in this situation it would mean that I'd ask him to wash my hair or my back, things like that. And I did ask him to, but since he is a person that I know, I asked him to have a look at my right hand too. Maybe put a little bit of water on it.

And then began an extremely personal public display of human kindness and weakness all at once.

"I think we should take this bandage off." Martin said, his eyes gentle and sympathetic but at the same time, nodding his head as if to say, "Do not argue with me."

"Um, okay." I responded, and Martin slowly, carefully peeled off the bandage down my forearm and unto my elbow. I saw Les wince. "Geez." Motz said, "Look at the sheer size of it."

"Don't hurt her, be careful." Vanessa whispered to Martin, as he cleaned my bloody, stinging wounds in the water.

I could not help but cry, it hurt so bad, and I looked up to see tears streaming down Antonia's face too, while on the other side of the room Karim repeated a mantra of "That doesn't look so bad, it's fine, it's fine," while Artem cheered me on with a "You got this, you're good" and Rory, standing in the doorway, exhaled a soft, compassionate, "oh, baby."

I'm telling you. The MOST empathetic setting with a real injury happening in real time being dealt with in a somewhat "theatrical" way at least in name. This is the kind of setup where jokes like, "How many artists does it take..." derive. Just being in a room together and feeling honest, present emotions there was an experience I truly treasure. When Martin decided to clean my recent wounds, the room supported him, and when I cried, they nurtured me. And we all cried or grimaced or panicked in the bathroom together in the state of Minnesota.

Sounds like a party to me.

Side Note: If you live in Minnesota, and are interested in seeing a performance of Broken Bone Bathtub, you are in LUCK because I'm back performing it again in the Twin Cities October 13-28. Tickets and info can be found here.