Life is a Carnival
May 23, 2025
As a recent Theatre grad in her 20s, Jackie Adamthwaite put her production skills to work on a cruise ship, stage managing shows for an international crowd at sea.
People joke about running off to join the circus; I came closer than most. As a twenty-something with a theatre degree, a handful of years of stage management experience, and itchy feet, I packed my bags and headed to Florida to join my first ship. I was newly hired as a stage manager aboard the Carnival Legend, and about to spend six months at sea.
I grew up as a “navy brat,” so I’d seen some big ships, but nothing prepared me for the floating city that loomed up before me as I got off the crew bus at the Port of Miami. The only thing more shocking than the size of the ship was the enormity and awesomeness of the onboard theatre. It was like they plucked a venue right off the Vegas strip and built the ship around it. The main show lounge had more bells and whistles than sophisticated roadhouses in Canada. Fully equipped with state-of-the-art lighting and sound equipment, the theatre also had a built-in revolve, hydraulic pit and platforms, as well as a fully automated fly system for scenery and people! It rivalled anything I’d seen on Broadway.
Known as the “party ships,” Carnival had some of the best shows at sea. We did two or three different production shows each cruise and at least one Vegas-style magic show. In between, we worked with comics, jugglers, hypnotists and Argentinian fire gauchos. We sometimes offered “Rock the Boat” charter cruises and hosted bands like Styx, Journey and REO Speedwagon.
Sea days were spent either rehearsing or on maintenance projects. But on port days it was all about “What time are we getting off the ship? Where are we going to eat? and Whose turn is it to buy drinks?” We didn’t sleep much. On a show day, we might leave the ship at 9 a.m., spend the day at the beach, return to the ship at 4:30 p.m. to start our pre-show setup and then head to the staff mess for a quick dinner. We’d be back onstage by 6:30 p.m. to finish prepping for the 8:30 p.m. curtain. At 9:30 p.m., we’d reset for a 10:30 p.m. show that came down at 11:30 p.m. There’d be a quick turnaround before a midnight comedian performed until 12:45 a.m. We’d finish closing down the lounge by 1:30 a.m., then it was up to the lido deck for pizza and beer. We’d crawl into bed (ours or someone else’s) around 3 a.m., and then get up early and do it all over again.
For the next three years I “homeported” out of Miami, Tampa, New Orleans and New York City. I travelled all over the Caribbean and even north to Halifax and Saint John.
I celebrated three birthdays and two Christmases at sea. I ate incredible food in restaurants on Bourbon Street and from shacks on the beaches in Mexico. I went cave-tubing in Belize, swam with stingrays in Grand Cayman, rode a horse through the jungle in Jamaica and spent the day at a manatee sanctuary in Puerto Rico. We were young, paid in cash and loving life.
In a world that feels so divided today, I’m grateful for the connections I made onboard. I wouldn’t trade my time with Carnival for anything, but I also wouldn’t do it again—not now, anyway. Given the toll on the body and the liver: it’s a young person’s game.
—Jackie Adamthwaite, BFA ’01
This article appears in the UVic Torch alumni magazine.
For more Torch stories, go to the UVic Torch alumni magazine page.