#4 – Sylvia, Tempe Little Theatre

Well – dare I say, that almost went…rather smoothly?

Sure, the stomach cramps appeared about 40 minutes before I had to leave, but Moo gave me three magic marbles for good luck, which she insisted I put in my pocket.  And I think those little good-luck marbles did the trick, because once I got in the car, I felt nervous, sure, but not where’s-the-barf-bag nervous.

Improvement!

I mean, yes, I think my hands were visibly shaking during the audition (which consisted of pairing up with fellow-auditionees to read scenes from the script), but I don’t think my acting was bad.  Maybe it wasn’t good, but I don’t think anyone was shaking their head at me pityingly.  I hope.

And after all that worry, no improv!  (Even though I studied doggy videos on YouTube all afternoon!)  Maybe the director is saving it for the callbacks.

I have no idea if I’ll get called back or not.  The director said she doesn’t usually call back more than three people per role, and even though there were only three other women auditioning for the “Sylvia” role, there will probably be many more at tonight’s auditions.  I prefer to go on the first night and just get it over with.

It was interesting to see the different approaches we auditionees took to interpreting Sylvia the dog.  One woman went full-dog, with her hair in poodly pigtails, even growling and whimpering.  Two others went, I’d say, about half-dog, and then I was probably about one-third dog.  What’s the director looking for?  Full-dog, half-dog, who knows?  What height, what color hair?  (We all wore our hair curly, of course – Sylvia is a poodle mix).  But it seemed clearer to me than ever before that at auditions, the director has something specific in mind - a look, a personality, a hairstyle – and I either fit what she’s looking for or I don’t.  Nuthin’ personal.

I felt so relatively normal afterwards that I didn’t even have to stop on the way home for a doughnut!

Although I kind of wish I had…

Shameless Self Promotion

I’m FAMOUS!  (In approximately 75-100 mailboxes across the greater Phoenix area.)

 

Woof, Bark, Arf?

The quest continues!

October 5 and 6, Tempe Little Theatre is holding auditions for “Sylvia,” a play by A.R. Gurney about a pair of empty-nesters and the dog that comes between them.  That’s right, a non-musical!  And since I’m a bit young for the empty-nester wife, I’ll be shooting for the role of the dog, a poodly mutt originally played by Sarah Jessica Parker on Broadway.  (A production, incidentally, that I saw while living in NY – Matthew Broderick was sitting in the row in front of me!  It’s good to have a roommate who works at the theatre putting on the play.)  SJP was delightful, and I have always remembered the line where she  looks adoringly at her master and says, “I think you’re God, if you want to know.”  The key to Sylvia is that Sylvia isn’t played as a dog running around on four legs.  She IS a dog, but she mostly keeps the doggie behavior to a minimum.  Instead, she represents the frisky new lady in her master’s life, creating a rather loony and fraught love triangle.

Of course, there’s the small problem that I am NOT a fan of dogs.  I mean, I can appreciate the idea of dogs, and I always cry during that scene in “Armageddon” where the mom and son are hiding in the little nook in the freeway tunnel and the dog comes leaping to safety over like five cars while a fireball explodes behind him.  Sniff.

But in fact, there are only two dogs I have ever liked.  One, Che, my childhood friend’s Doberman who must have been about 80-years-old and was the sweetest, most well-behaved dog I’ve ever known.  Two, Peekie, my Grammie’s little black poodle, also old and sweet.  I like old, sweet dogs who do not jump on me, slobber on me, growl at me, JUMP ON ME, or live next door and bark all the freaking time.

Confession:  I am a bird person.  So I guess my audition may be a little avian-based.  But as long as I remember not to flap my wings, I think I could capture a basic sort of petsy whimsy.  Right?

But here’s my real dilemma – the audition notice says that the audition will consist of cold readings from the script (I have the script in my hand and plan to read it at least three more times, so I’m not too worried about that) and… improvisation.  !!!!  The horror!  I HATE improv…almost more than dogs.  No, definitely more than dogs.  My crazy husband is so good at improvising that he was actually part of two successful improv troupes in Seattle – but me – I freeze.  I do not possess that just-let-go gene, which allows you to dismiss any cares about what people think of you and say and do whatever your instincts tell you.  Argh.  Right or wrong, I really do care deeply what people think of me, want them to like me, and tend to cower under a table whimpering when I think I’ve disappointed someone…just… like…a DOG??  HEY!  Hey hey!  There may be hope for me after all.

“How Can I Possibly Go On Without Alcohol?”

That’s one of my favorite quotes of the night, courtesy of Sonia, right after we discovered the theater bar was cash-only, and right before we filed into the theater and I realized we’d gone around the side instead of down the center where the red carpet and fake paparazzi were, and unless I wanted to look like an idiot and frantically back pedal and scootch around back to the center aisle to get my picture taken by a 20-year-old photography student, I’d better just mosey on in and take my seat.

And so I did, missing my fake red-carpet moment, and then I sat my butt down in the 2nd row (woo!) and didn’t move my aching ass for two and a half hours.  Ouch!

Also, I didn’t win, and am now seriously questioning my worth as a human being.  I mean, WHAT AM I?!

But Mary our director won for choreography, and Toby for sound!  And so we were well-represented, the show was great, and I enjoyed being in my dress and my fancy jewels, with my handsome man at an awards show.

Afterwards, Mary tried to give me her choreography award, “because I made it look so good,” and that pretty much made my night.  Then we went over to the restaurant, FINALLY found some alcohol, and schmoozed the night away.  I got to chat with all my theatre buddies, and remembered once again that one of the best things to come out of this whole durn quest is all the friends I’ve made.

Then I tortured myself awhile, because I should GET UP and schmooze with people I don’t know, like all the producers and directors of theaters I’d love to work for (hello, Theatreworks, Fountain Hills, ABT!), and so finally I dragged myself out of my seat and wandered the patio aimlessly until I saw Sonia again and escaped to the safety of her side.  And then, lo and behold!  I got to talk to the tap-dancing horse.  THE tap-dancing horse, from Hale Centre Theatre’s “Sleeping Beauty” production, the tap-dancing horse that Moo idolizes, her go-to character for most games of pretend.  I regaled the horse (actually a very talented young man named Skylar) with tales of Moo’s devotion and he seemed impressed.  After a discussion about the dying art of equine tap-dancing, I returned to Herbie and Julie.

“Where have you BEEN?” they asked.  “You just missed the directors of Fountain Hills Community Theater and Southwest Shakespeare.  I would have introduced you!” Julie said.

Oh, shit.

“Where were you?” Herbie demanded.

“Um… talking to a tap-dancing horse.”

They thought that was preeeetty hilarious, but it was all worth it, because when I picked up Moo this morning at my mom’s house, the first thing I told her was that I talked to the tap-dancing horse.  Her mouth fell open.

“You DID?!?!?!?”

And I told her how the horse hopes she takes tap-dancing lessons some day, and how he bets she’s a wonderful dancer, and she fell into my lap and giggled and giggled and giggled, and that made me happier than any new dress, fancy jewelry, or shiny gold plaque ever could.

Although – that jewelry was kind of to-die-for.  Maybe next year I’ll have another reason to borrow it again.

The whole look (since I rambled on about it so much):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With Mary, beloved director/choreographer and Zoni award winner! (She can just add that to the shelf with all her Emmy’s and Oscars.)

With Sonia, after we FINALLY found some alcohol:

My date (we’re very misty/mystical out on the patio):

Back home at the laptop, refusing to take off my finery:

“And My Lawyer, And My Agent, And GOD…”

So here’s what I said after winning last night:

“Thank you so much!  I want to thank everyone at Desert Foothills, especially Meribeth and all the wonderful volunteers, my incredible cast, and Mary who I love so much even though I’ve only known her a few months – I’ve loved her choreography for so long, watching Sound of Music and Mary Poppins over and over again, it’s like I’ve loved her my whole life.  Thank you to my husband for supporting me, pushing me, making me laugh (and all the massages), and to my family and friends.  And I just have to tell you a quick story - I studied theatre, went to New York and did the whole thing, and was too chicken to ever go to a single audition.  And then I got to a certain age and thought, “Really? I’m just going to be a big chicken my whole life?”  And so I gave myself six months to get cast in ANY show, and one year later, here I am winning this award, and that is CRAZY.  And I don’t know why I was so scared of all you people, because I couldn’t have been more warmly welcomed.  I am truly honored to be a part of such a kooky, dysfunctional, deeply talented family of actors and artists.  Thank you!”

Isn’t that a good speech?

Yeah, I didn’t win.

And I really wasn’t expecting to (the award went to an actress from Nearly Naked’s “Blood Brothers” with a formidable voice and the most intimidating bosom I’ve ever seen), and the only reason I was hoping to win was because it would just make such a great ending to my story.  But I’m quite content to hold off on giving my story an ending at all.  I’m hoping there’s still a lot more adventure to come.

But isn’t that a good speech?!

One Year Old

Oh no, I missed my own anniversary!

September 8, 2008, I earnestly began my blog, and along with it my quest to rid myself of some theatrical baggage…  And good God, I must say I’m rather amazed and proud that I actually stuck with something!  For (over) a whole year!  Thanks for reading and sticking with me, my dear bloggie friends.

For old time’s sake, let’s celebrate in haiku:

Three auditions down
And I didn’t burst in flames
Gimme more, more, more

My quest is over,
My Moo is bigger, and now
The future is bright

(Except for dentists,
and getting older ugh ugh,
and dirty dishes.)

Umm, introspection?
Just not feeling it tonight,
Conan in my ear.

I think this calls for
A batch of rainbow cupcakes
And frosting (and booze).

Do You Know Why My Garter is White?*

Six shows = six garters that I fling out to the audience (rubber-band-style) during “All That Jazz.”  Let’s take a look at the statistics:

Garter #1:  landed pitifiully in the first row, where no one was sitting.

Garter #2: Aimed squarely at Herbie in the third row, but landed in the seat right in front of him.  Guy next to Herbie made a play to grab it himself, but Herbie claimed it first.  “Gonna go up to her after the show?” said the guy.  “Nice.”  “Well, actually, she’s my wife,” said Herbie.  “But good idea.”  Garter 2 now hangs on our headboard.

Garter #3:  Perfectly flipped into the lap of a man in the middle of the third row.  I rejoiced until intermission, when one of the ushers handed it back to me.  Rejected!

Garter #4:  The night of the Great Boob (Almost) Escape.  I was so angry about my costume malfunction, I took it out on the garter, fwanging it straight up instead of down toward the audience.  This turned out well, as the garter reached all the way to the 6th row and was not returned to me.

Garter #5:   Flipped respectfully into third row, right at an older gentleman.  After the show, the gentleman found me and handed me the garter.  “It’s a souvenir!” I protested.  “You can keep it!”  “I would,” the man said, “but I don’t think my wife likes the idea.”  Hee.

Garter #6:  My last garter, my last performance!  My whole family attended the show, and I couldn’t see any of them in the audience until the very beginning of “All That Jazz,” when I spied my dad sitting in the stage right section.  He looked like he was in about the 7th row, but I thought I could make it.  How fun, to fling it to my dad during my last show!  Everything was going so well – I eased the garter down my leg and over my shoe without falling over (always a challenge), spun it around on my finger, aimed and…FWANG!  “Noooo I’m no one’s wife!” I sang, looking for the garter landing out in the audience.  Wait a minute, where did it go?  I looked down – ACK! (which, apparently, I said out loud.)  There it was at my feet!  How did that happen?!  I could NOT end this way! ”But ohhhh I love my life!” I sang.  I picked up the garter like a hot potato, twirled around, and flung it like a frisbee out into the audience, where it landed in the 10th row, right in a very startled gentleman’s face.  Ha.  And no, he didn’t return it.

And allll….

that….

jaaaaazzzzz!

 

*Because everyone who’s passed above it has gone to heaven!

Making Up for Lost Time

All my life, I’ve been late.   My family and friends and dear husband can verify this – I have rarely been on time for anything.  School, jobs, interviews, blog updates, auditions, movies, dates, weddings, planes – I’ve been late to ‘em all. 

So it’s kinda funny that during both “Kiss Me Kate” and “The World Goes Round,” I was always early.  Not the first one in the theater, of course – that’s almost always the stage manager – but always the first cast member.  (Except that one time I got a flat tire.)

Granted, I’m not an idiot, nor am I really into self-sabotage - I’m just not going to be late for a show that I’ve been slowly striving toward for 14 years.  But our “call time” is always an hour before curtain, and I was always there about an hour and a half before that.

 I felt a little guilty telling Herbie and assorted babysitters that I just HAD to leave by 5, when really I didn’t HAVE to be there until about an hour or so after that, but getting to the theater first is, for me, one of the best things about the whole entire experience.

When I first get there, I flip on all the lights in the dressing room, saving those bright lights around my mirror for last.  I set up my makeup and plug in my curling iron, and then I slip out to the wings of the stage to gather up whatever costume pieces may have been tossed behind the props table during the mad rush the night before.  The stage is almost completely dark and silent, and it’s tempting to go leaping across it willy-nilly, but I know Toby is probably in the sound booth and might tease me about it later.  So I just stand there and let the quiet seep in and calm my racing heart.

Then it’s back to the dressing room, where I prop open the door so I can see and hear the slow trickle of people arriving.  Soon Toby switches on the intercom, so I can hear the backstage crew (a.k.a. very nice rich ladies) laughing and sweeping the stage, and later, the first few bweeps and bum-bum’s of the band warming up.  Julie is the next cast member to arrive, and we chat about our families while we slather on makeup.  Mary the director usually pokes her head in to say hello next, and then the boys arrive, shouting hello before they disappear to hunt for food.

Around this time there is almost always some sort of costume-related emergency – Norm has a mysterious bump in his shoe, ALL of our pantyhose and backup pantyhose have holes in them, all of our costumes are missing, all of our costumes have been attacked by a Bedazzler, I forgot my white bra, Julie’s bra is missing (she found it later in her driveway), you can see my “Britney” through my orange pants… and so on.  Amazingly, almost all of these crises can be solved with a single safety pin.

Next, Blaze arrives, having made herself up at home, and we’re all called on stage to warm up and test our mic’s.  At this point I do actually leap across the stage willy-nilly, as it’s my only chance to warm up my muscles, and also because there is nothing more enjoyable than leaping willy-nilly across a stage.

Warmed-up, we trot back to the dressing rooms, and I curl my hair and reapply all the makeup that has already worn off because I started getting ready so damn early.  Over the intercom, the band blares as they squeeze in a few last minutes of warm-up before Daniel opens the doors for the audience.  In the dressing room, we sometimes tell dirty jokes back and forth.  Sometimes we warm up our voices more.  Parrot calls work well – CA-CAW!  Sometimes someone appears in the doorway with roses from an admirer (thanks, sweetheart).

And then, suddenly, Daniel’s voice comes over the intercom and announces that we only have 10 minutes, and I have not even started getting dressed.  With the help of Spray Mount, I chemically bind myself into a torn pair of pantyhose and pull on my increasingly sparkly purple leotard and skirt.  Then I ask Julie to slide my mic pack down near my butt crack, and I ask Blaze to tape the wire to the nape of my neck (because she always gets it just right).  Now we can hear the low hum of the audience over the intercom as they start to take their seats, and I stick a couple bobby pins in my hair and spray it into submission (once grabbing the Spray Mount by mistake – close call!), slick on some ruby red lipstick, poke my favorite sparkly earrings through my ears, and put on the wrong shoes, which I will realize about four minutes before I have to go on stage.

We all gulp down water, clasp hands with Mary in the hallway, and shout “Kander and Ebb woo!” or “Yay pretty princesses!” or some such ridiculous thing.

“Break a leg!”  “Break a leg!”  “Break a leg!” 

And then Daniel’s voice commands us to take our places for the top of the show.

Sometimes I linger in the hallway for a couple minutes, my eyes going over the song list to try and remember what the heck it is I’m going to be doing in a few minutes.  And then I flap my arms back and forth like a goose, and clap my hands five times.

In the wings, it’s not quiet anymore.  Blaze is already singing.  The backstage ladies are whispering in each other’s ears.  Norm and I bump fists.  The band is swinging, and the lights are blaring, blue and purple and red.

Blaze starts building toward the end of her song, and I bury my face in one of the curtain legs and take deep breaths.  Then I gaze up into the endless heights of the stage – it just goes up and up and up.   I join Norm for our entrance, and I do a little dance to the last few bars of Blaze’s song, hips shaking, to get my energy up.  The audience applauds for Blaze.  Norm gives me a nod, and I pat him on the back.

And then we’re singing.

…If I had the keys to the building, I think I’d get there at the crack of dawn.

All That Boob

So there I was, shimmying over to Ricky at the beginning of “All That Jazz” last night, when all of a sudden I felt – kinda naked.

I looked down and saw that the strap of my costume had ripped off, and Left Boob was precariously close to popping out to say hello to the audience.  I don’t know how I kept singing.  I am told I DID keep singing, whew.  As soon as I could, I reached up and pressed the sequined flap of material to my skin, hoping some left over Spray Mount would keep me covered up for the next five minutes.

Thank God for Spray Mount!

But I was so angry.  Here I only had three more chances to perform a song I’ve always dreamed of performing, and suddenly, due to factors completely beyond my control, one of those chances was ruined.  It’s like somebody really wanted to teach me a Life Lesson, and I just really wanted to flip that person the bird.  I couldn’t shimmy, I couldn’t shake.  I couldn’t lean over or bend backwards.  I did a quick experiment in the possiblity of shaking one’s hips without shaking one’s torso, with some success.  And the whole time I felt sure that the audience’s eyes were glued on Left Boob, waiting to see if it would peek out for its own chance in the spotlight.

But after quizzing practically everyone in the audience after the show, absolutely NO ONE had noticed that my strap had fallen off.  No one!  Herbie and Rosalind just thought I wasn’t in a shimmying mood.

Fine, fine, lesson learned.

My mom and my sister spent an hour today reinforcing every strap on that sucker (and found about three other rips and tears while they were at it), and so by God, I shall not be naked tonight.

I SHALL SHIMMY!

(Did I just jinx myself?)

Friday Blues

I’m having a little trouble remembering that I have a show to do tonight.  Having a break all week was nice, but the bad news about our canceled show makes all our effort feel a little futile, plus I’ve lost all the nervous energy I had leading up to last weekend’s shows.

All I want to think about is Moo’s birthday party. 

In a small way, I’m relieved that now I have all of Saturday to help Herbie get our house ready for the party on Sunday evening.  But Sunday will be even crazier - two cakes to decorate in the morning, then we’ll all rush off to the Sunday matinee (hopefully leaving behind a perfectly party-ready house), where the entire posse of cousins, aunts, sisters, and in-laws will watch the show, and then we’ll all rush back to our house to eat cake and open presents.

And, of course, declare the Grand Prize Winner in the home-made robot contest (winner picked by Moo).

And in all my errand-running, and fussing with prizes and cleaning and decorating, I kinda keep forgetting that I’m going to be on stage tonight singing and dancing.  Moo hasn’t forgotten, though.  She always wants me to sing songs from the show, discuss our costumes, and divulge her plans to introduce everyone in the cast to her favorite stuffed animals.

So why am I having trouble getting excited?  After all, my so-called quest is just three performances away from being dunzo.  Three more performances, and then – what?  I probably won’t be back on stage for a while.  For one thing, I am asking a lot of Herbie without exactly contributing to the family coffers.  Plus, Herbie and I might like to start on a much smaller-sized quest of our own very soon.

Maybe I don’t want to think about all this coming to an end.  I just hope it’s not another 15 years before I’m on stage again.  But at least then I’ll be old enough to actually play Mama Rose!