I’m a performer, and although for most of my performing career, I’ve been in broadcasting, I have always loved live performances (even on the radio). Other than petting my cat, little is more fulfilling than working to a live audience, whether it be in a bar, a theatre, or the classroom.
I’ve already mentioned, elsewhere, that I preferred to play character roles, usually someone of a different age. The transformation through makeup and costume were always part of my prep to get into character. Someone too close to my own age or character was much more challenging, but not as much fun, so I only played leads, especially romantic leads, once, and that was playing the Woody Allen role in his play, “Don’t Drink the Water.” That’s the gig where I got to kiss Debby, TWO TIMES!.
“Water” is not Allen’s finest. It is his first stage play, and he had yet to fully develop his style. The movie version had a generic “lead” play his character to disastrous results. Jacky Gleason destroyed one of the characters, and the entire movie stunk. But, the play is cute and plays into Cold War memes.
All the performances went well, until the final show. I doubt if I can remember ALL of the things that happened, but by the end of the evening, members of the cast were deliberately adding to the mayhem.
I will try to remember all of the things that happened, off script, but I’m sure I’ve forgotten some of them.
The first big thing I remember was when a bomb was supposed to come in through the window, the Jacky Gleason character picks it up, asks what it is, I say “A Bomb” to which he says, “A Bomb” and we play hot potato for a few tosses, chuck it out the window, there’s a big bang and a puff smoke, and we go on. Closing night, the person throwing the prop through the window missed. It was constructed from a small, hard plastic basketball (painted black) with a fuse. When it hit the stage, it bounced. Even though it was hard plastic, it managed to bounce, and bounce, and bounce. Each bounce took it closer to the orchestra pit, which was some ten or twelve feet below us. Patrick, my friend who was playing the Gleason character, was wearing leather soled wingtips, and I was wearing soft leather, suede moccasins, so neither of us had any grip. We both started for the bouncing target, knowing that if it went into the orchestra, we’d either have to retrieve it, or fake it, and neither of us wanted to try how to keep the scene going without the prop. I tried to stop, but slid foot first off the lip of the proscenium, and Patrick, who actually caught the blasted thing, had dived for it, and was now teetering on the edge, holding the bomb.
The audience was on their feet – fifteen hundred souls, all wondering if they were going to see us splattered on the floor of the pit.
Patrick looked up at me, and asked, “what do we do now?”
To which I replied, “Get back on stage and keep going”
We did.
Someone asked me, later, how we choreographed that trick, every night. They thought it was planned.
There were several other smaller prop7-related accidents, but I don’t remember the details.
The next bit of fun was when another actor was supposed to storm into the American embassy (which is the setting for the play) and demand the spies (the caterer and his wife and daughter who inadvertently took pictures of classified material and are being sought as spies) be turned over. He was supposed to point the gun right in my face, and I was to use on finger to point it down, and we were to do this a couple of times during the scene. But, this time, the actor with the machine gun didn’t let me push it down, gently, so I pushed a little harder, eventually grabbing the barrel and pushing it down – of course, it was a wooden prop (looked really good, until the next moment). As the dialogue continued, I heard “crack” and looked down and I had the forward hand grip and the barrel, while the other actor had the stock and the back half of the gun. He started laughing so hard he couldn’t get his lines out, all he could say was, “Hang on, wait a minute,” repeatedly, while he tried to compose himself. He finally exited, leaving me with half of a broken prop – which I promptly threw over my head, over the top of the flats into the wings, as if that’s the normal thing to do when a gun falls apart in your hands.
The script called for us to find a “double” for the caterer. We were to locate a local who could be used as a decoy, and the director, who was a very good friend of mine, for the remainder of his life, thought it would be fun to play the role of the body double. There were no lines for the double, as he was just supposed to move in and out of the background of various scenes. One of those was just before an embassy party, he’s supposed to be seen coming in and stealing a bottle from behind the bar. We decided to have some fun with it, so we had him enter and go up behind the bar and disappear. At some point, I was to enter this seemingly empty room.
When he pops up, drunk, I say, “Hey, take it easy on that stuff.”
To which he replied, “No speak a da English,” at which point he disappeared behind the bar, like a drowning man. Once he’s submerged behind the bar, the next group of actors were to make their entrance, and the party ensued. Except, they didn’t. There I was alone, on a sixty-five foot proscenium stage, Strauss waltzes blaring, no lines, no business, no help. They left me on stage, alone for what appeared to be (in my head) hours – although I’m sure it was only a few minutes. By the time they made their entrances, I was dancing with the furniture and singing along to the music, at the top of my lungs.
In another scene, Patrick, and I along with the actresses playing his wife and daughter (Christy and Debby, respectively) are supposed to be going through the escape plan, and something happened, that threw Patrick off and he gave me a bad queue. I responded to what he had actually said, and the two of us held a long, detailed conversation outlining the details of the escape plan – except it wasn’t the plan that Woody Allen had written nor was it what the other two actors were expecting. I don’t remember where all we went with it, but I remember saying, “Got it.”
“Got it!” Patrick replied, and we went back to the script.
After curtain, I returned to the wings, headed for the dressing rooms. I was stopped by an amazingly beautiful woman, probably about 25, who stopped me, grabbed my shoulders, and stuck her tongue down my throat. When she finally disconnected, her first words were, “I haven’t tasted stage makeup in quite awhile.”
I don’t recall her name. If I remember, we went out a few more times, but then she disappeared – if I remember right, she had been home from college for the play.
I do remember, that she wouldn’t let me get out of makeup, and she made me take her out, after the play. I was not 21, so bars weren’t an option, so we went to one of the few places open (back in the day), in Porterville late at night, the Pig Pen. The Pig Pen had been a staple of downtown Porterville since the 1930s. A real greasy spoon catering to blue collar workers and drunks, that time of night – and a drama geek in full makeup.
Ironically, the prior day, I had had my senior picture taken, and I was still in makeup from the night before. I awoke late and had to dash. I had forgotten I was still wearing some eyeliner, until the photographer asked me if I was wearing makeup. I explained I was in a play, yada yada, to which he replied, “it’s probably for the better, I wish more people wore makeup for their pictures. I washed that makeup off before applying my new face for the final performance, where everything went wrong, but it was one of the greatest nights I ever spent in the theatre.
I wish someone had video of us rescuing that bomb from the pit.
One other note about this event. All the disasters happened when I was on stage. I caused none of them, but because I’m a ham, I was the one who had to adlib around, sometimes with Patrick’s help, or otherwise fill or correct until we could get back on track.
Both Christy and Debbie had been critical of my adlibbing and occasional upstaging (like when my pants fell off, in “Arsenic” – NOT MY FAULT). Several times, they had, as friends, made some mention of it. The following Monday, after this performance, both of them took me aside. I expected to get a tongue lashing, but instead, they both heaped praise and gratitude on me for salvaging the disaster. They both admitted that once they left the actual page, they had nothing, and they were so grateful that I, and I pointed out Patrick was there, too, were able to handle just about ANY problem short of an onstage fire.
Sometimes, being the class clown comes in handy.
I’ve already mentioned, elsewhere, that I preferred to play character roles, usually someone of a different age. The transformation through makeup and costume were always part of my prep to get into character. Someone too close to my own age or character was much more challenging, but not as much fun, so I only played leads, especially romantic leads, once, and that was playing the Woody Allen role in his play, “Don’t Drink the Water.” That’s the gig where I got to kiss Debby, TWO TIMES!.
“Water” is not Allen’s finest. It is his first stage play, and he had yet to fully develop his style. The movie version had a generic “lead” play his character to disastrous results. Jacky Gleason destroyed one of the characters, and the entire movie stunk. But, the play is cute and plays into Cold War memes.
All the performances went well, until the final show. I doubt if I can remember ALL of the things that happened, but by the end of the evening, members of the cast were deliberately adding to the mayhem.
I will try to remember all of the things that happened, off script, but I’m sure I’ve forgotten some of them.
The first big thing I remember was when a bomb was supposed to come in through the window, the Jacky Gleason character picks it up, asks what it is, I say “A Bomb” to which he says, “A Bomb” and we play hot potato for a few tosses, chuck it out the window, there’s a big bang and a puff smoke, and we go on. Closing night, the person throwing the prop through the window missed. It was constructed from a small, hard plastic basketball (painted black) with a fuse. When it hit the stage, it bounced. Even though it was hard plastic, it managed to bounce, and bounce, and bounce. Each bounce took it closer to the orchestra pit, which was some ten or twelve feet below us. Patrick, my friend who was playing the Gleason character, was wearing leather soled wingtips, and I was wearing soft leather, suede moccasins, so neither of us had any grip. We both started for the bouncing target, knowing that if it went into the orchestra, we’d either have to retrieve it, or fake it, and neither of us wanted to try how to keep the scene going without the prop. I tried to stop, but slid foot first off the lip of the proscenium, and Patrick, who actually caught the blasted thing, had dived for it, and was now teetering on the edge, holding the bomb.
The audience was on their feet – fifteen hundred souls, all wondering if they were going to see us splattered on the floor of the pit.
Patrick looked up at me, and asked, “what do we do now?”
To which I replied, “Get back on stage and keep going”
We did.
Someone asked me, later, how we choreographed that trick, every night. They thought it was planned.
There were several other smaller prop7-related accidents, but I don’t remember the details.
The next bit of fun was when another actor was supposed to storm into the American embassy (which is the setting for the play) and demand the spies (the caterer and his wife and daughter who inadvertently took pictures of classified material and are being sought as spies) be turned over. He was supposed to point the gun right in my face, and I was to use on finger to point it down, and we were to do this a couple of times during the scene. But, this time, the actor with the machine gun didn’t let me push it down, gently, so I pushed a little harder, eventually grabbing the barrel and pushing it down – of course, it was a wooden prop (looked really good, until the next moment). As the dialogue continued, I heard “crack” and looked down and I had the forward hand grip and the barrel, while the other actor had the stock and the back half of the gun. He started laughing so hard he couldn’t get his lines out, all he could say was, “Hang on, wait a minute,” repeatedly, while he tried to compose himself. He finally exited, leaving me with half of a broken prop – which I promptly threw over my head, over the top of the flats into the wings, as if that’s the normal thing to do when a gun falls apart in your hands.
The script called for us to find a “double” for the caterer. We were to locate a local who could be used as a decoy, and the director, who was a very good friend of mine, for the remainder of his life, thought it would be fun to play the role of the body double. There were no lines for the double, as he was just supposed to move in and out of the background of various scenes. One of those was just before an embassy party, he’s supposed to be seen coming in and stealing a bottle from behind the bar. We decided to have some fun with it, so we had him enter and go up behind the bar and disappear. At some point, I was to enter this seemingly empty room.
When he pops up, drunk, I say, “Hey, take it easy on that stuff.”
To which he replied, “No speak a da English,” at which point he disappeared behind the bar, like a drowning man. Once he’s submerged behind the bar, the next group of actors were to make their entrance, and the party ensued. Except, they didn’t. There I was alone, on a sixty-five foot proscenium stage, Strauss waltzes blaring, no lines, no business, no help. They left me on stage, alone for what appeared to be (in my head) hours – although I’m sure it was only a few minutes. By the time they made their entrances, I was dancing with the furniture and singing along to the music, at the top of my lungs.
In another scene, Patrick, and I along with the actresses playing his wife and daughter (Christy and Debby, respectively) are supposed to be going through the escape plan, and something happened, that threw Patrick off and he gave me a bad queue. I responded to what he had actually said, and the two of us held a long, detailed conversation outlining the details of the escape plan – except it wasn’t the plan that Woody Allen had written nor was it what the other two actors were expecting. I don’t remember where all we went with it, but I remember saying, “Got it.”
“Got it!” Patrick replied, and we went back to the script.
After curtain, I returned to the wings, headed for the dressing rooms. I was stopped by an amazingly beautiful woman, probably about 25, who stopped me, grabbed my shoulders, and stuck her tongue down my throat. When she finally disconnected, her first words were, “I haven’t tasted stage makeup in quite awhile.”
I don’t recall her name. If I remember, we went out a few more times, but then she disappeared – if I remember right, she had been home from college for the play.
I do remember, that she wouldn’t let me get out of makeup, and she made me take her out, after the play. I was not 21, so bars weren’t an option, so we went to one of the few places open (back in the day), in Porterville late at night, the Pig Pen. The Pig Pen had been a staple of downtown Porterville since the 1930s. A real greasy spoon catering to blue collar workers and drunks, that time of night – and a drama geek in full makeup.
Ironically, the prior day, I had had my senior picture taken, and I was still in makeup from the night before. I awoke late and had to dash. I had forgotten I was still wearing some eyeliner, until the photographer asked me if I was wearing makeup. I explained I was in a play, yada yada, to which he replied, “it’s probably for the better, I wish more people wore makeup for their pictures. I washed that makeup off before applying my new face for the final performance, where everything went wrong, but it was one of the greatest nights I ever spent in the theatre.
I wish someone had video of us rescuing that bomb from the pit.
One other note about this event. All the disasters happened when I was on stage. I caused none of them, but because I’m a ham, I was the one who had to adlib around, sometimes with Patrick’s help, or otherwise fill or correct until we could get back on track.
Both Christy and Debbie had been critical of my adlibbing and occasional upstaging (like when my pants fell off, in “Arsenic” – NOT MY FAULT). Several times, they had, as friends, made some mention of it. The following Monday, after this performance, both of them took me aside. I expected to get a tongue lashing, but instead, they both heaped praise and gratitude on me for salvaging the disaster. They both admitted that once they left the actual page, they had nothing, and they were so grateful that I, and I pointed out Patrick was there, too, were able to handle just about ANY problem short of an onstage fire.
Sometimes, being the class clown comes in handy.
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