Shape Shifting

I'm not a sci-fi geek, but I have long heard of "shape-shifters," who are supernatural beings able to morph from one form to another at will. I wonder, though, if there is a term for a person who causes shape-shifting to occur? If so, the names "Warner Crocker" and "Steve Przybylski" would be mentioned in the Wikipedia entry describing the term.


Last week, we began our third and final week of rehearsal for Man of La Mancha. We were a mess. Well, that's probably putting it too dramatically; we weren't a MESS, exactly, but we were clearly under-rehearsed and headed toward opening a merely serviceable production of this classic show. We were running out of time. Outside variables (such as sharing Warner and Steve for two weeks, a subject about which I refuse to shut up) added to the intrinsic difficulty of putting such a huge show onto the compact stage at Wayside. Progress at the beginning of the week was hampered by a number of things, including the necessity of re-staging much of the combat and dance movement which had been choreographed the previous week. Those earlier rehearsals were unfortunately conducted without the benefit of music, either live or on tape, so the synchronization of the music to the movement stalled the progress Warner had hoped we would be making. (He writes about the panic in the eyes of the actors here.)


Wayside has always had a limited rehearsal period, and who hasn't? I'm reminded of a tale I heard in grad school, of a production of Hamlet being directed by Stanislavsky at the Moscow Art Theatre. He rehearsed the damn thing for a solid year. On opening night, someone asked his opinion of the show. He replied, "If we only had two more weeks..."


So, the early part of the week had its share of stress. The lovely and talented Vaughn Irving was feeling a lot of it, as he choreographed all the fight and dance movement in the show, despite declaring over and over, "I'm not a choreographer." Sorry, Vaughn, yes you are. Get used to it.






Vaughn is one of the many success stories to come out of the Wayside Theatre intern program. He was an intern the year I first appeared at Wayside in Black Coffee, and since then has returned many times to its stage. He is a fine young actor (with a booming voice perfect for his role as The Captain, where he summons Cervantes to be questioned by the Spanish Inquisition), and is also a skilled and versatile musician (he spends most of our show in Pitland, playing a variety of percussive instruments). Vaughn's choreography for the show is both hilarious and harrowing, and includes a comic combat sequence, a gypsy dance, a stylized number with mirrored shields, and a frightening rape ballet.



Oh, and horses who hoof. The first big number of La Mancha comes after a lengthy dramatic scene which opens the play, and in a startling bit of stagecraft, Vaughn, Warner, and Steve (our musical muse) created a moment which brought spontaneous applause from the full theatre on opening night. Yes, after a rocky start early in the week, Warner and Steve, our "shape-shifters," did not surrender; with a positive and optimistic outlook, they pressed onward, and the week ended with two solid preview performances on Saturday (I'll relate the story of my huge gaffe during the first preview in a future entry...believe me, it's worth waiting for...).


The final proof that our show had shape-shifted from a tame production of a creaky chestnut into a dynamic illustration of the power of Live Theatre came on Sunday's opening night. As Cervantes and his manservant mounted those prancing actors wearing horse heads, and became Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, Defenders of the Right, our opening night audience exploded.



It's one of the most memorable moments I have ever experienced onstage.

David Marks

The DC theatrical community lost one of its leading comic players last week, with the fatal heart attack of David Marks on June 3. David was a 1987 graduate of NYU's prestigious acting program, and was a company member at Arena Stage for 11 years. He earned five Helen Hayes nominations and won the award in 1990 for Briar Patch at Arena. He was a regular player all over town, and excelled at boisterous, over-the-top characters such as in Olney's The Rivals (at top) and the Folger's Midsummer Night's Dream (above right). I did not know David personally, but enjoyed his performances whenever I encountered them. I particularly enjoyed his appearance as Pompey in Measure for Measure at the Folger a while back, where he held his own opposite the puppet playing Mistress Overdone (left).

David leaves behind his wife, producer/dramaturg Garland Scott, and son Harris.

Friday Dance Party: The (Asian-) American Dream

The star of this week's Dance Party was at the center of a major casting controversy in 1990.



Broadway of the 1980s was dominated by British imports, all of which were produced by Cameron Mackintosh. He provided the original productions of Cats, Phantom of the Opera, and Les Miserables, among others. When his West End production of Miss Saigon was ready to leap the pond, he ran into some trouble.




The male lead in Miss Saigon is a pimp called "The Engineer," who acts as a narrator, commentator, and occasional participant, to the story. (If Kander and Ebb had written the show, Joel Grey would have played the role.) In the West End, Jonathan Pryce played the part, and Mackintosh had every intention of importing the actor to recreate the role for Broadway. "The Engineer" is described as a Eurasian, a man of both French and Vietnamese heritage, and American Equity, under pressure from the Asian-American acting community, refused permission for the Caucasian Pryce to appear. With some justification, they felt the role should go to an Asian actor.





Mackintosh was the Darth Vader of Broadway at the time, and though Miss Saigon had the biggest advance box office sale in history, he threatened to pull the plug on the production (thus sacrificing hundreds of jobs and thousands of union work weeks). Equity relented, and Pryce opened the show in April of 1991, winning the Tony as Best Actor in a Musical. The show ran over 4,000 performances, and Pryce was succeeded by a long string of Asian-American actors.


Here is the performance of Miss Saigon at the Tony Awards, in which Jonathan Pryce gyrates, salivates, and practically masturbates. The number was apparently one of the showstoppers (I've never seen the show, as I'm afraid of helicopters), and it helped Pryce to his second Tony (he previously won for Comedians in 1977).

This year's Tony Awards are happening on Sunday, and in light of this week's bail-out of General Motors, I doubt anyone will be humping a Cadillac like Pryce did in 1991:

Jonathan Pryce turned 62 this week.

Missing Mrs. Muir

I woke up this morning with much on my plate. Four more rehearsals until the crowds show up in La Mancha, and though all the words, all the lyrics, and all the notes are in my brain, they are having a hell of a time getting out. In the correct order. And on time. And I have yet to seriously address my technical issues, which will consist of passing out swords, gloves, armor, hats, helmets, staffs, pots, pans, scarves, as well as moving stools, tables, buckets, and horse heads. In the correct order. And on time. While wearing a bugle.

Want to make an actor complain? Give him a job.

With rehearsal this evening, I have a full day to address some of these issues on my own. Instead, I awoke thinking about The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Remember that show? It only lasted two seasons, back in the late 60s when primetime was peppered with a witch, a genie, and a car that was really your mother. Based on a film of the same name, it concerned a widow who moves into a haunted house. Hijinks ensued.

Except they really didn't, at least not much. Instead, the show turned into a rather tender love story between a ghost and a lady. With only a two season run, the show can't be counted a big success, but it contained a luminous performance by film star Hope Lange as Mrs. Muir. She brought a calm dignity to a show which was meant to be full of hilarious hocus-pocus; she snagged Emmy awards for both seasons.

Oh, and here's a story I love, which I'm not sure is true, but I hope it is. I've heard that Charles Nelson Reilly, who played the ghost's slimy nephew, was hired only for the pilot episode, in which he swindles the widow into renting the haunted house, site unseen. While shooting the pilot, Hope Lange alerted the writers and producers that Reilly's performance as the character was much too good to be dropped, and must make return appearances during the series. And that's what happened.

Here's the first scene of the pilot, which Reilly carries on his own. It proves Lange was right:

Two years ago last week, I wrote about Charles Nelson Reilly's death.

The Buddy Hackett Tenor

We all remember Buddy Hackett, right? The roly-poly comic was a fixture on sitcoms and late-night talk shows during the 60s, and headlined in Vegas for many years. He also appeared in a few musicals, including the film version of The Music Man (he sang a song called "Shipoopi," whatever the hell that means...) His comic trademarks were rubbery facial expressions and a spittle-spewing speech impediment, and live performances which were quite raunchy. He was never a favorite of mine, but his name has popped up regarding my gig at Wayside. When I was chatting about playing Sancho with our musical director, Steve called the role a “Buddy Hackett tenor,” and though I had never heard that term, I knew exactly what he meant.




Sancho Panza is written as a tenor, but does not, thankfully, require the pure sound of, say, Phantom of the Opera’s Raoul. Instead, it’s a character voice. The role, as written, is too high for my voice, which is much more comfy on lower baritone notes, a fact which did not seem to dissuade the Powers at Wayside from casting me. I’m glad they are taking a chance.

Our first week’s rehearsal was spent on music, and Steve proved himself to be one of those musical directors who cares more about the overall sound of the piece, and the comfort of the actors, than strictest adherence to the score. He has, quite magically, turned a huge musical into a chamber piece, with lots of guitar, bass, and exotic percussion, and the occasional clarinet and trumpet. He transformed the existing orchestrations, written for who knows how many pieces, into ones being played by only four people, and sometimes less. You would think the sound would be disappointing, but you would be wrong. The rustic, environmental sound which we are hearing from “Pitland” (which is onstage with us, as the music is being performed by the actors), suits our show far more than the larger, more Broadway-type sound normally accompanying the piece. It’s extremely exciting.

As for yours truly, I’m plugging along. In the choral numbers, Steve has wisely moved me to lower notes, and my solos are coming along, too (Sancho sings three numbers alone, and contributes to four or five more). But time is of the essence. We have been sharing director Warner and music director Steve with Totem Pole Playhouse, where they are remounting Cotton Patch Gospel ( I wrote about seeing the show last month here at Wayside). Two weeks of simultaneous rehearsals have not made it easy on anyone, and with apologies to Ray and Larry, my buddies in Gospel, I couldn’t care less how prepared their Totem Pole show is.

I want more Me of La Mancha Time.

This second week, we have been staging the musical numbers (there are more of them than you remember), and we’ll soon be heading into our final week, where, miraculously, this huge monster will come together (and during which I will be turning from sidekick into onstage prop master...tech rehearsals, for me, will be presenting another adventure in itself).

Onward.

Isn't this illegal?

I've been passing this sign every day for a week, and finally had to take a picture. I know Dwarf Tossing (and its nasty descendent, Dwarf Bowling) were all the rage a while back, before it was outlawed, but apparently Strasburg did not get the word:
I have not seen any Little People out here in Strasburg, so I can only assume that the sign means they are being used as the pigskin.

Detox

I have arrived in Middletown, VA, the scene of my next crime. Though it's only a quick 90 minutes from Capitol Hill, it's a world away. The town has only one stoplight, and Wayside Theatre is apparently its biggest business. There is a definite small-town feel to the place; just take a look at all the flags which appeared this weekend, lining Main Street about 20 feet apart. There is no parade planned or anything, the town just puts up flags for every national holiday.

My digs couldn't be nicer, a rustic cabin in the hills of neighboring Strasburg. Well, it's actually a guest cottage on the expansive lot of one of the benefactors of the theatre. It's secluded from the street (and from the outside world) by several acres of woods.

From the outside, it doesn't look like much, but inside, it's a terrific bungalow with huge kitchen (about the size of my bedroom at home), and a great room with homey furniture and, um, interesting touches. (Note the Christmas tree in the corner, and the ladder going nowhere.) I currently sit at the desk placed against a window, through which I can see a rabbit hopping by. The sleeping chamber is a loft above the living area, reached by one of those staircases which is so steep, it's almost a ladder. Really, despite it's surroundings, the place isn't all that rustic (how could it be with a full kitchen, including microwave and laundry facilities?)

There is one thing both towns of Strasburg and Middletown lack: a Starbucks. Hard to believe there is a place in this country without one. Call Ripley's. I am not a coffee drinker, so I never go into such places, but I wouldn't mind one here, as where there is a Starbucks, there usually follows Internet. Here at the cabin, the previous tenant (the lovely and talented Larry) took his Internet Access with him when he left (though his guitars are still here. Wonder what they might fetch on EBay...) I had no idea how addicted I was to the Web, but now that access is gone, I have realized that I spend A LOT of time out there in cyberspace. These days, I can only get online at the theatre, so I'm going through a bit of withdrawal.

It's a quiet period for me. There is no television service out here, though the owners of the cabin offered to reinstate it for me. It did not seem worth the effort or the money, so I declined their kind offer. The television has a working DVD/VCR player, which will suffice for me. (I confessed a while ago that I am slogging my way through all four years of Dark Shadows; I'm currently up to the period where the vampire goes back in time to prevent the ghost from becoming a werewolf...this show is seriously disturbed...)

Well, the lack of entertainment options out here should be a good thing. There is nothing to distract me from the task at hand, conquering this monster show. Stay tuned.