What's the opposite of stage fright?

In 1996, Sharon Sachs was called in to read for the Goodman Theatre's annual production of A Christmas Carol, which runs through December. Literally, to read—she was an actress tasked to feed lines to auditioners, and nothing more. But her work nabbed the director's eye, and she was duly cast in this 31-year-old tradition. Over her 10 seasons with the Goodman (she took a few years off here-and-there to work as an actress in Los Angeles, where she spends most of her time), Sachs, 46, slowly grew out of ensemble roles and into meatier parts; she is currently spending her sixth year as Mrs. Fezziwig. She's not the only person as committed: William J. Norris, the original Scrooge, has gotten into the spirit every year since, playing various small parts as needed. What kind of person enjoys rehasing the same old blocking each and every Christmas? As The A.V. Club discovers, someone full of lots, and lots, of cheer. Lots.

The A.V. Club: What's the appeal of repeat performances?
Sharon Sachs: People do ask this question, but, you know, it never feels the same to me. I'm in LA for most of the year, so the appeal, outside of the work, is that it's an incredible journey, this story. The journey Scrooge takes with his life… I constantly re-evaluate my own life and think, "Wow, if every day we woke up and really thought we had a second chance to look at what we're doing, and really look at it to make changes for the better, for humanity, and can we afford to do that?" Honestly, it is bliss from the beginning to the end of it. My basket is so full of goody goods about this particular job. We get to start Christmas early.
AVC: What about the part itself?
SS: When we start rehearsal, it's like peeling that onion; every year feel like she's a new person. It's great that the lines don't change a bunch, because you get to build more each year. Instead of starting at square one with the text, it's like you've been in rehearsal for 10 years.
AVC: Once you get a part, is it yours for life?
SS: Absolutely not. They attack the show like it's new every year, to keep it fresh for subscribers and traditionalists, or put a different spin on things. You never know at the end of the year if you're going to be offered a job the following year. The call comes in late spring, but some people aren't hired 'til September.
AVC: How cutthroat is the competition? How much do people gun for each other's parts?
SS: Oh God, that's really interesting. I have no idea. Actors by nature are very competitive because there are only a certain amount of roles. I don't know if anyone… you know, I'm gonna start having someone taste my food at lunch. [Laughs.] I don't know about the underlings. I certainly know lots of people would like the job, and actually I'll see actors out who have played Mrs. Fezziwig before me, and they'll go, "You took my job!" and we'll all have a good laugh behind it.
AVC: Well it's all about what's behind the laughter.
SS: Yeah, well thanks. Again, with the food taster…
AVC: It's been 10 years: Something uncheerful must have happened to you, right?
SS: Plenty. The most ridiculous being the year Tiny Tim blew chunks on stage. He wasn't feeling well, and he didn't tell anybody. He was 6, and they put all this food in front of him on stage and his body was like, "I don't think so." We didn't stop the show at all—Mrs. Cratchit walked her puking son off stage. I was on the side, ready to go on in the next scene, and was like, "I can't take the vomit-ridden kid." Later, though, I had a quick-change in the little boys' dressing room, and he was sitting there on a pillow. I said, "Honey, if you don't feel good, tell somebody next time." He just said, "In all my years in the theater, I've never once thrown up on stage."