My big Kennedy Center acting debut was today. Role of a lifetime: Woman in the Snow
On the surface it would seem a role that anyone could play. No lines. On stage for 10 minutes. Walk out to the front of the stage, "collapse" from cold and hunger, lie motionless while a little girl pretends to warm you up and watch over you and the choir sings. Get up and leave. Re-enter "cured" (Christmas miracles after all). Hug the boy, hug the girl, wave, retreat. Curtain call. How difficult could this be?
Well. . . starting with yesterday's dress rehearsal when I was called upon to "collapse" multiple times until we got it right, more difficult than you would think. It's not the collapsing so much at my age as the getting back up again. Thanks to George the Trainer and my countless hours in the gym over the last 3 years, I must admit that I pulled it all off with aplomb!
But the problem yesterday at rehearsal, according to the director, was that the white blouse I was wearing under the shawl that was my costume, caused a glare of the spotlight. Something about "it makes you too noticeable." I countered with something like: "And that's bad because. . . . .. .? She ignored me and suggested I bring something black to wear. I suggested that all my clothes were 150 miles away and if she had wanted black I would have needed more notice (I did not deliver that "suggestion" as snarkily as it sounds, but really. . . I totally have a new appreciation for divas!). She told me she had several "large" black tops at home that she could bring so that I could put one over the blouse. Now in the first place. . .should I have been insulted by the emphasis on the word "large?" I guess not. At least I didn't have to go out and buy something. I decided to let it go. Deep breath! Calm! (LARGE???????) Ah-ah-ah. . . . . deep breath, calm. . . . . .
Today I was approached by the choir manager upon entering the backstage area. He had the "black garment" that the director had brought. He went in and brought out a decidedly NOT LARGE, zip up, wool jacket. It was so NOT LARGE that it was in fact: SMALL. As in Size Small. As in, on the little tag at the collar, a big, juicy "S". Is she kidding? The last time I wore a size small I was 9 years old. And it was probably a man's small. Should I have been concerned about the implications here? Can I even get into a Small? Is she pulling some sick joke here? Deep breath! Calm!
It's shortly afterwards that I take a really good long look at our director. For the first time I realize that basically, my left leg is bigger than she is. I bet in her tiny little world, this black jacket is actually large and roomy. Hmmmmmmmmmm. . .
Well. . . no time like the present to try this puppy on and see if there is any way to make it work. And HOLY WEIGHT WATCHERS! It zips right up! Don't get me wrong. It wasn't roomy! But it wasn't awful. And the shawl was going to cover it up anyway. Things are looking up! I feel positively lithe, the (albeit smaller) rolls around my waist hardly noticeable.
I put my "costume change" on the table off stage and took my place for the entrance of the choir. I entered from the house. . . walked through the aisles with some of my colleagues greeting people, waving, shouting. This concert is clearly less formal than our normal ones. I even got to wave at my son Casey who was in a box seat with girlfriend Cortney and her son Jordan. I yelled, "HI CASEY!" and waved. And he yelled "HI MOM!" back. Not that anyone heard him because every one was shouting greetings. Very down-home Christmas-y! Very folksy! Very Norman Rockwell!
The first few numbers go off without a hitch, and then it's time for me to sneak off and go back stage for my costume change. I pull off my red blouse and zip up the large/small sweater thing over the white tee shirt. I put the alpaca throw around my shoulders and head. I await my cue. The tension is palpable. ( I love that word. I've used it twice today!)
Here comes the sound of wind. The high school dancers, all in white and carrying white streamers simulate the snow storm. I bundle up, and hobble to the front of the stage and collapse exactly on my marks. (This is exciting! I had MARKS! One for my head and another one which was so close to the first one that I'm not sure which body part it was designated for. I hope I landed the appropriate appendage on top of it). My eyes were closed. I honestly never did know what was going on on-stage while I was there, because my high degree of professionalism in each rehearsal prevented me from even so much as cracking open an eye to peek out. So I certainly wasn't going to do it in the performance. The children discover me shortly after the collapse and the action ensues. Girl: "I can't go to the cathedral!" Boy: "But you'll miss the music!" Girl: "I have to stay with her. She could DIE!!!! Here. .. take this small silver insignificant teeny tiny worthless coin to place on the altar right after the king offers up his crown! And try to act surprised when the chimes ring!!" (I'm paraphrasing here, but you get the gist). Now while this touching dialogue is going on, the main spotlight is right on me. I can see it through my closed eyelids. And then the girl has to put her scarf around me to try to keep me warm.
Here's where my Academy Award Winning instincts kick-in! Because I'm lying on a stage in black tights (known for their ability to keep the wearer warm), a skirt, tee shirt, zipped up wool sweater that you may remember is NOT LOOSE! I'm covered by the shawl I wore out on stage, and the scarf that has just been put on me. And a million watt light bulb is glaring down on me. To say I was not in actuality freezing to death as the story would suggest, would be an understatement! Add to that the fact that my right arm has gone completely numb and my right hand is cramping in the position I have chosen. And my high degree of professionalism refuses to move so much as a tiny muscle, lest the audience suspect that I am, in fact, not truly near death with the cold.
The choir is singing, the little girl is singing. It's unbearably poignant. And I am slowly roasting to death. I would not be surprised to find out that the front 3 rows began to detect the unexplainable aroma of roasting meat. I am breathing deeply and mentally urging the choir to pick up the tempo on the song. As it was, if that song had gone even another 8 bars, it's possible that the play would have had a very different, much more dramatic ending than the one planned. Let's just say paramedics would have been involved. But the song ended, I managed to get up and be led off stage.
The little girl and I were supposed to hang at the back of the stage against the risers until our next entrance in the "she's alive! It's a miracle" scene. But I summoned up my inner diva and left the stage, removed the shawl and jacket and headed for the water cooler to rehydrate. I had some time. The villagers and the king were trying to make the chimes ring by offering expensive gifts. Apparently they had not read every Christmas story ever written that this never works. While I was back stage where I wasn't supposed to be, I went to the bathroom. Oh yeah, I did. I was gettin' on with my bad self! Being all "I can stroll around back stage if I want to!" following my brush with death on the stage. I did manage to get myself together and re-costume myself for the very brief reveal of my miraculous recovery. Hug boy. Hug girl. Wave. Retreat. And. . . (for me). . . . Scene!
I was completely revived for the curtain call. Then it was back into the red blouse and back on stage for the final songs. All in a days work for us veteran actors.
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