Why, oh, why, Lord, is this theatre doing Cats? I know, I know, it isn't until later in the season, but still. Have I explained the season? Two weeks each for the following:
South Pacific
Fiddler on the Roof
Funny Girl
Cats (!)
Guys and Dolls
Gigi
Except Cats gets three weeks. THREE weeks of misery - what are they thinking??? Oh, they expect to sell tickets, I'm sure, but I can't be sure it will be worth it even to them...the costume folk began sewing for Cats in April. April. A trillion actors are coming in just for Cats. Ugh.
In other excitement, we've managed to block and choreograph the entire show (South Pacific) in six days - or will if we finish it off tomorrow. Oh, did I mention we're working in the round? The stage is a square surrounded by four banks of seats, each slightly stacked. We fly along, setting up moves and then running scenes over and over to get the moves to sink into our brains. The dance sequences are murder because after the dance call last weekend (see SSII), I feel terribly self-conscious about my dancing, yet I'm forced by the play to dance for seemingly interminable sections by myself. So the worst dancer in this crew is left to her own devices to prance around making an idiot of herself while everyone else just sits back and snickers behind their hands.
My fellow cast members are sweet, actually, they never noticably snicker, and I've heard from several of them that I make an "adorable" Nellie. I'm pleased to hear the compliment, obviously, but we're actors, after all. Truckloads of salt are needed whenever we tell each other anything complimentary:
"Oh Darling, you were wonderful. I couldn't take my eyes off you."
Transalation: I was mesmerized by your true awfulness and why on earth did you get that role when I would have been much better.
"My Precious! You were divine!"
Translation: I can't wait until the dreadful review of you appears in the papers: I plan to clip it out and frame it.
In yet other news, I witnessed a mild meltdown today by our truly lovely hair and wig person, who was both embarassed and tearful at her sudden inability to do my hair for a photo call. "They're gonna yell at me," she sniffled, and it was heart-breaking, really. She seemed so thrown by the situation, when usually she's a brash ball of attitude. I guess the brashness covers the fear of being yelled at - I tried to talk her down, because my hair just didn't seem that important and I hated to see her so upset for a trifle. I guess theatre does attract "dramatic" personalities but gracious, people, we're not doing surgery here.
It's just a show. And it goes up in a week. Eeek!
It is an education to work at this speed. I'll report back after our first run-through...
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Friday, May 26, 2006
Summer Stock II
Days one and two are complete, and were completely different. Sometimes you fear the worst and are pleasantly surprised by the outcome. Sometimes you grit your teeth and decide whatever happens, happens, but when it happens, it's horrifying.
Day one. We still weren't very well informed, but we were given some rules, a cast list, scripts and some musical review. It's a start. I was worried about the wordless judging that goes on the first time you hear a lead actor sing his or her role. I'm not above such judging: I will size up whoever is cast in the next show (Fiddler on the Roof), , so I know everyone has their ears open to see if I deserve this, if I should be singing Nellie in South Pacific. I can't lie - it was scary. I can only sound how I sound, I can't make them like or dislike my voice, but I wanted to feel I was good enough to do this. I have been ignoring the fact that this is my first lead role in a musical, ever. I've been in tons of musicals. I've had solos in quite a few of them. I've played the lead in non-musicals. But I've never had a starring role in a musical. I am trying to pretend that fact isn't true, because it will only make me more nervous. I don't want to tell people it's my first lead in a musical because if I say it before the show, it sounds like an excuse, and I think excuses are a waste of time.
Especially beforehand.
So it was my own opinion I was curious to test as well. When I sang, would I sound good enough to deserve to play this role?
Happily, I can report I did. I sound pretty good, and while of course other people sound just as good and sometimes better, I'm pleased overall with the singing. I sound ok, I have pretty good control over what's coming out of my mouth, I can follow direction. I am at least somewhat off book (that is, memorized).
Sadly, all that good momentum got shot to hell today, with our dance call for Cats.
We had a two hour audition with the choreographer for Cats, during which we learned three combinations and performed each in groups of 3.
(Oh, yeah, later in the season we're doing Cats. Complete with ridiculously complicated dancing. I say ridiculous because the stage is maybe 10 feet by 10 feet. )
I know I'm not a dancer. I did not expect to suddenly become a dancer today. But I can't help being saddened by the fact that I SUCKED.
I'm a perfectionist, true, and hard on myself, and I'm not sure what the choreographer thought, I'll admit, but there's just no getting around the fact that I have no extension, no flexibility, and a distinctly muddled understanding about how the moves I'm seeing should be communicated to my feet.
It makes me sad, because I like dance but I'm clearly not trained or good at it. I truly fear two things that may happen from this audition: I won't be allowed to be onstage at all in Cats and, much, much worse, I won't be allowed to be a Hot Box girl in Guys and Dolls. The Hot Box girls are so fun. They get to sing nasal, whiny choruses and do a strip tease - who wouldn't want to be a Hot Box Girl?!?
Ah, well. I am trying so hard to be a grown up, to accept that I won't always be perfect. I am trying not to let my self-confidence plummet just because I lack the ability to change direction on a maxi-step.
I hope I'm good at something else in recompense. Flossing, for instance, or taking care of lepers. Something to make up for the lack of dance in my life.
I hope whatever thing that is, I find it and think of it throughout Guys and Dolls while I'm in the Salvation Army instead getting to be a sexy, stripping Hot Box Girl. "Floss, floss, floss," I'll be thinking, banging that bass drum and singing Follow the Fold.
Look for that expression on my face. That'll be weeks 11 and 12.
Day one. We still weren't very well informed, but we were given some rules, a cast list, scripts and some musical review. It's a start. I was worried about the wordless judging that goes on the first time you hear a lead actor sing his or her role. I'm not above such judging: I will size up whoever is cast in the next show (Fiddler on the Roof), , so I know everyone has their ears open to see if I deserve this, if I should be singing Nellie in South Pacific. I can't lie - it was scary. I can only sound how I sound, I can't make them like or dislike my voice, but I wanted to feel I was good enough to do this. I have been ignoring the fact that this is my first lead role in a musical, ever. I've been in tons of musicals. I've had solos in quite a few of them. I've played the lead in non-musicals. But I've never had a starring role in a musical. I am trying to pretend that fact isn't true, because it will only make me more nervous. I don't want to tell people it's my first lead in a musical because if I say it before the show, it sounds like an excuse, and I think excuses are a waste of time.
Especially beforehand.
So it was my own opinion I was curious to test as well. When I sang, would I sound good enough to deserve to play this role?
Happily, I can report I did. I sound pretty good, and while of course other people sound just as good and sometimes better, I'm pleased overall with the singing. I sound ok, I have pretty good control over what's coming out of my mouth, I can follow direction. I am at least somewhat off book (that is, memorized).
Sadly, all that good momentum got shot to hell today, with our dance call for Cats.
We had a two hour audition with the choreographer for Cats, during which we learned three combinations and performed each in groups of 3.
(Oh, yeah, later in the season we're doing Cats. Complete with ridiculously complicated dancing. I say ridiculous because the stage is maybe 10 feet by 10 feet. )
I know I'm not a dancer. I did not expect to suddenly become a dancer today. But I can't help being saddened by the fact that I SUCKED.
I'm a perfectionist, true, and hard on myself, and I'm not sure what the choreographer thought, I'll admit, but there's just no getting around the fact that I have no extension, no flexibility, and a distinctly muddled understanding about how the moves I'm seeing should be communicated to my feet.
It makes me sad, because I like dance but I'm clearly not trained or good at it. I truly fear two things that may happen from this audition: I won't be allowed to be onstage at all in Cats and, much, much worse, I won't be allowed to be a Hot Box girl in Guys and Dolls. The Hot Box girls are so fun. They get to sing nasal, whiny choruses and do a strip tease - who wouldn't want to be a Hot Box Girl?!?
Ah, well. I am trying so hard to be a grown up, to accept that I won't always be perfect. I am trying not to let my self-confidence plummet just because I lack the ability to change direction on a maxi-step.
I hope I'm good at something else in recompense. Flossing, for instance, or taking care of lepers. Something to make up for the lack of dance in my life.
I hope whatever thing that is, I find it and think of it throughout Guys and Dolls while I'm in the Salvation Army instead getting to be a sexy, stripping Hot Box Girl. "Floss, floss, floss," I'll be thinking, banging that bass drum and singing Follow the Fold.
Look for that expression on my face. That'll be weeks 11 and 12.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Summer Stock
Ok, people, I have crossed over into an alternate universe. Everyone plays show tunes, in their car, in their stereos, in their iPods. All the boys are gay, and fabulous dancers. There is a definite atmosphere of summer camp, and everyone is engaged in that I-must-tell-you-my-life-story dance that goes with meeting people for the first time. I've heard the phrase, "we're going to be best friends" at least six times.
I am doing summer stock. Now, don't get me wrong, I like these people, and I am fully prepared to enjoy myself. I think we're going to have a great time. But I also see people already giving themselves away and it is cracking me up. Some classic first sentences from these folk:
"Look at me, I'm already yelling in the house!"
"Charlie was the first gay man I was ever in love with."
"We brought all of Hannah's hair..." This last was said as a large, see-through box of hair pieces and wigs came out of the minivan. How does one end up with such an assortment of personally owned wigs??
The minivan contingent made me laugh anyway - girls arriving flanked by relatives and ensconced in massive vehicles filled with their things. We had the mother, grandmother, brother combo, also the mother/brother duo, and a very gruff father that did all the heavy lifting. These are people who brought with them boxes of canned green beans, George Foreman Grills, extra microwaves. It is a madhouse of people who have not all made the break from home.
To be fair, a lot of these folks are still in college. Enough said.
When I say all of the boys are gay, I mean they are all boys, and ALL gay.
Oh, and the house...
I am also living in a Scooby-Doo episode. The house is a rickety, spider-infested firetrap of an old house with a scary attic and creey basement to boot. It's a charming old house, and with some work, would be a gorgeous place to live, but it was bought run-down and years of only being lived in during the summer has left lots of dirty corners and vermin. The boys live in the equally run-down carriage house in back. We've got 11 girls in 8 bedrooms with 2 bathrooms. Hmmm.
I got in by myself at about 1:30 am the other night. No one had told me that someone was IN the house, and no one had told that someone that I might be coming in late, so I basically gave her the fright of her life. I was in the midst of a phone call: "Yeah, honey, I'm fine, it's just that the house is really old and creepy and there's no one here, and... YAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!....*click*.
It was fine. It was just I'd given one of my roommates a heart attack as I wandered around checking out the house. She thought I was an intruder and hid under the covers hoping desperately that I'd just go away.
It was quite an introduction.
In the meantime, don't let all this gossip fool you. I have my own insecurities that I'm sure show as much as the ones I'm noticing in my compatriots. But I'm trying to keep my mouth shut and watch everyone else.
Gotta go - more stories to listen to - more people to figure out.
Tales from the front will follow.
I am doing summer stock. Now, don't get me wrong, I like these people, and I am fully prepared to enjoy myself. I think we're going to have a great time. But I also see people already giving themselves away and it is cracking me up. Some classic first sentences from these folk:
"Look at me, I'm already yelling in the house!"
"Charlie was the first gay man I was ever in love with."
"We brought all of Hannah's hair..." This last was said as a large, see-through box of hair pieces and wigs came out of the minivan. How does one end up with such an assortment of personally owned wigs??
The minivan contingent made me laugh anyway - girls arriving flanked by relatives and ensconced in massive vehicles filled with their things. We had the mother, grandmother, brother combo, also the mother/brother duo, and a very gruff father that did all the heavy lifting. These are people who brought with them boxes of canned green beans, George Foreman Grills, extra microwaves. It is a madhouse of people who have not all made the break from home.
To be fair, a lot of these folks are still in college. Enough said.
When I say all of the boys are gay, I mean they are all boys, and ALL gay.
Oh, and the house...
I am also living in a Scooby-Doo episode. The house is a rickety, spider-infested firetrap of an old house with a scary attic and creey basement to boot. It's a charming old house, and with some work, would be a gorgeous place to live, but it was bought run-down and years of only being lived in during the summer has left lots of dirty corners and vermin. The boys live in the equally run-down carriage house in back. We've got 11 girls in 8 bedrooms with 2 bathrooms. Hmmm.
I got in by myself at about 1:30 am the other night. No one had told me that someone was IN the house, and no one had told that someone that I might be coming in late, so I basically gave her the fright of her life. I was in the midst of a phone call: "Yeah, honey, I'm fine, it's just that the house is really old and creepy and there's no one here, and... YAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!....*click*.
It was fine. It was just I'd given one of my roommates a heart attack as I wandered around checking out the house. She thought I was an intruder and hid under the covers hoping desperately that I'd just go away.
It was quite an introduction.
In the meantime, don't let all this gossip fool you. I have my own insecurities that I'm sure show as much as the ones I'm noticing in my compatriots. But I'm trying to keep my mouth shut and watch everyone else.
Gotta go - more stories to listen to - more people to figure out.
Tales from the front will follow.
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