SS III

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...