So, where were we?
Before beginning, a couple of
housekeeping notes. First of all, “The Speakeasy” went quite well tonight,
thank you very much. The Act One audience was very responsive (they even
chuckled at the ventriloquist) and laughed at everything they were intended to,
and even though it was a wee bit crowded in the bar, it wasn’t too terrible.
There was some oddness as a few of the actors are in the midst of some illness,
which is affecting them in individual ways, from hoarse-and-weak to
kinda-tired-but-better to I-wish-I-were-dead. The actor in the last category
had to be replaced in one of the scenes, but his substitute was quite good in
what must have been a challenging situation. He later kinda blew off the
compliments I paid him in the dressing room, but I did feel he did remarkably
under the circumstances.
I felt pretty good about what I did,
even if there was a woman who wanted to engage me in
(reasonably-period-appropriate) conversation (no matter how hard they try, I’m
not gonna go there – though I did help the woman who was trying to buy chips
for the casino) and the guy I directed my final monologue at just did not want to be talked to, and even got
up and left toward the end of the scene – before I was done! I ended up standing
on the foot rails of my barstool, haranguing him and continuing to try to get
his attention.
Secondly, I just wanted to remark on the
nuts-and-bolts of writing these posts. Yesterday’s was going in an entirely
different direction when the whole subject of Claude File came up. I started to
give some background on his nickname, which was requiring a whole series of
footnotes, parentheses, and diversions when I realized the whole topic would be
best served by a full and compleat history of SCCT – or, at least, a more
organized rundown. (I mentioned to a friend last night that I ought to do an
oral history book or film on the noble experiment of SCCT. It might make an
interesting subject. Who wouldn’t be interested in a college summer theatre
that folded after five seasons thirtysome years ago?)
But (as always) I digress …
So, where were we?
It was 1980, and in the run-up to the
company’s fourth season, Fred Fate (whom I realized I should have described;
think of a gymnastic, energetic, and blond Moe Howard) was giving interviews
and sending out press releases. One of his selling points was the
previously-mentioned Claude File. Fred said something about the company having
brilliant directors, fascinating shows, great designers, and a talented
company, including “the actor Claude File.” From that moment, poor Claude was
marked. To this day, he is known among our circle as “The Actor Claude File.” Claude
himself seems to have vanished from the face of the Earth, more or less. He’s
been pretty impervious to my own web searching. He was teaching at a number of
places, but left his posts. Today, as far as I can tell, he’s living in Arizona
or Michigan or both. The last time I saw him personally was in 1993. I was at a
theatre conference in Oregon, and he was there, representing his department –
somewhere in Washington, as I recall. He was a little greyer, but instantly
recognizable, and we had a great afternoon. (This was also the theatre
conference where I discovered the Russian-American Theatre Company – aptly acronymed
“RAT” – which led to my trip to Russia that turned out to be an absolute
boondoggle. But that’s a story for another time.)
Okay, so Claude was on board, as were
many others from previous seasons (SCCT was good at that; many people worked
there multiple seasons. The people were – for the most part – nice, the shows
were good, and the atmosphere allowed for equal amounts of work and play). I
realized this morning that a lot of the 1979 and 1980 groups have become
Facebook friends.
As usual, we were all going to be in two
shows, either “Man of La Mancha” or “Charley’s Aunt,” with everyone joining
back up for “Paint Your Wagon.” We all auditioned, hoping for one show or the
other (I think it was almost inevitable in this system that, whichever show you
really wanted to be in, you’d end up
in the other). I really wanted to do “Charley’s.” It was a show I’d done in
1976 (I’d spent the evening of July 4, 1976 performing in the show under a tent
at the Muckenthaler Cultural Center in Fullerton, CA, watching Disneyland’s
fireworks some three miles away. The show also featured fireworks of its own on
opening night. In those days, if I wanted to appear older, I’d add white to my
hair – usually shoe polish. Opening night, I took off my top hat, and the
powdered shoe polish exploded in a cloud of dust. Suffice it to say, I no
longer need help for my hair to be white – or to look older …)
One of the reasons I wanted to do “Charley’s”
is that I really like it (I think it’s one of the few sure-fire, can’t-miss comedies)
and I’m not crazy about “La Mancha.” It’s a good show, but not one I’m really
aching to do.
Well, we all auditioned, and
astonishingly, I was cast as Brassett the butler in “Charley’s” and Raymond
Janney, a gambler, in “Wagon.” I was delighted at the former and had no idea of
what was to come in the latter.
Things being as they were, the company
broke in two almost immediately, and we’d run into people from the other show
only at lunch or after we broke in the evenings, so no one had a real good
handle on what was going on in the other rehearsal rooms. Our own rehearsals
went quite well. We had a good company, and our director, Bill Glover (whom Los
Angeles readers of a certain age will recall as the British guy in the
commercials for C&R Clothiers in the 70s) really knew the show, the style,
and how to direct comedy.
After about three or four weeks, “La
Mancha” was ready to open and the “Charley’s” company trooped over to La Mirada
to see it, and I was astonished at how good it was. The actor playing
Cervantes/Don Quixote (Bill Odien) was as good in his role as The Actor Claude
File had been as Tevye; exactly the dynamic performer you want in that role,
with a beautiful singing voice, and the rest of the company wasn’t far behind.
It was just a great evening in the theatre, which we now had to match.
Fortunately, we did. As I said, the
script was – is – pretty foolproof, but we really nailed it, led by the
redoubtable Mark Myers in the title role. Mark was the nephew of Barbara
Billingsley, best known as Mrs. Cleaver on “Leave It to Beaver” and the
jive-talking woman in “Airplane!” She came to see the show one night and came
backstage afterwards. She was as charming and nice as you’d hope – and she was,
indeed, wearing the string of pearls we all hoped she would.
Both shows had runs of three or four
weeks, but in the middle of those runs, we began rehearsals for “Wagon.”
Well, lookit here. I’m 1200 words in,
and haven’t even started to mention rehearsal, performances, or even Garbage
Theatre, and to do so would push this post to its limit. So, despite my promise
and best intentions, I’m going to have to make this a three-parter.
Will a cast of undisciplined animals be
able to control themselves? Will a hopelessly inept script and score survive
the barbarians? Will Ralph Eastman have an aneurysm? Will Dave break on stage?
And will those saloon girls be able to jump that rope?
Tune in tomorrow for the answers and the
exciting conclusion.
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