The Anatomy of a Production
The first reveal of Les Cagelles
All photos by the author, save where noted.
“Let’s put on a show!”
Well, for regional and local theaters it’s not as simple as
the old Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland films would have you believe. In the age of
digital, when every legitimate theater is fighting for an audience – and
funding – the decision to put on a show, or a series of shows, is fraught with
imponderables: What show? Will it appeal
to our audience? Can we afford it? Can we cast it? These and a hundred other
questions arise when a theater decides to bring a drama, comedy or musical to
life on stage, and although, in almost all cases, it’s a labor of love, the
steps a theater has to take to board a show are numerous and, as with anything
else, the devil is in the details.
Jacqueline Hubbard, executive/artistic director at the Ivoryton
Playhouse, made a decision, based on the success of “Dreamgirls” during the
theater’s 2013 season, to opt for “La Cage Aux Folles” to fill the end of Ivoryton’s
summer season, an important time for the theater.
“I decided ‘La Cage’ was a possibility for us after seeing
the revival and understanding that the glitz and glamour of the original
production was not necessary to make the show work,” Hubbard commented in an
e-mail.
Window card for the original Broadway production
of "La Cage Aux Folles"
Anyone who has been to the Playhouse, a venerable venue nestled
in the middle of Connecticut
that recently celebrated its 100th anniversary, knows that its stage
presents, if nothing else, limitations. It’s a small theater (240 seats) with restricted
space in the wings to store and shift sets and little or no fly space (space
above the stage where scenery can be raised and lowered). Thus, putting on a
“big” musical is, by its very nature, a challenge. However, Hubbard, who has
been with Ivoryton in various capacities for the past 20 years, knows what can
and cannot be done.
“Something that has become apparent to me over the last 10
years,” she wrote, “is that even though we have a small budget and cannot
provide all the bells and whistles of the much larger theatres, we can take a
large production and make it more intimate, sometimes revealing and
highlighting aspects of the show that may get lost on a grander scale.” The
same philosophy has been embraced by other theaters in Connecticut, notably MTC
Mainstage in Westport (a venue much smaller than that of Ivoryton’s), which
produced an intimate “Cabaret” several years ago that both revealed and
highlighted aspects of the show that might have been less evident in the
Broadway productions or the even bigger film version.
Still, the decision to stage “La Cage” is not without its
possible perils. It will run through most of August, a time when the local
audience is augmented by tourists – if the show doesn’t work, if Hubbard has
made the wrong decisions, if the audience doesn’t respond, or if those she will
choose to bring the musical to life aren’t up to the task, it can have
ramifications well beyond bad reviews. There are risks, but Hubbard is
sanguine.
“Fortunately for me,” she wrote, “There is no one else in
the process [of deciding what will and will not run at Ivoryton]. As long as I
can find a creative team that I trust and that is as passionate about the work
as I am, then it’s a go.” She added: “The members of the Board of Trustees that
oversee the Playhouse have been terrific in not involving themselves in
creative decisions and, as long as we are still paying our bills and growing an
audience, they are happy to let me run the show. It can be scary and, as you
know, it doesn’t always work, but it’s always an adventure.”
Yes, an adventure, and a very long one, for although the
show will run in August, preparations begin a good four months in advance and
will continue until opening night. Over that time many people with multiples
talents – actors, singers, dancers, the creative team and technical
professionals -- will meet, argue (politely), make decisions, reverse those
decisions based on reality, work long hours, rehearse, and strive to bring to
the stage the best “La Cage” Ivoryton can produce.
An adventure indeed, and it begins with trying to decide who
will fill the roles of Georges, the master of ceremonies at his St. Tropez drag
nightclub, “La Cage Aux Folles,” Albin, his long-time significant other who,
when on-stage, becomes the exotic Zaza, Jean-Michel, Georges son (the result of
a brief, straight fling many years ago with a showgirl named Sybil), Anne,
Jean-Michel’s fiancée, Jacob, Georges and Albin’s somewhat ostentatious
“butler,” and, among others, the Cagelles, the female impersonators who perform
at “La Cage.” The task of finding these actors and actresses is carried out
through the storied, time-honored “casting call,” when aspiring and seasoned actors
and actresses put it on the line, knowing they are being judged. It’s a unique
job interview, for the candidates aren’t simply asked questions, they must
perform, often in a sterile atmosphere under less than flattering lights, accompanied
by a single piano, all while the creative team sits behind a table and
observes. It can be, if nothing else, daunting.
Casting
On Saturday, April 19, over 50 actors and dancers make their
way to Pearl Studios at 500 8th
Avenue in Manhattan
to audition for roles in two upcoming productions at Ivoryton: “La Cage Aux
Folles” and “All Shook Up.” Several weeks prior there had been a local casting
call in Ivoryton and several roles for “La Cage” have been tentatively filled,
but this will be the major casting call for, after all, it’s New York City,
where the talent is…abundant.
Studio space at Pearl
is at a premium, so Ivoryton has one of the large dance studios booked from 9
to 11 a.m. Over those two hours, choreographer Todd Underwood (for “La Cage…”)
and director Richard Amelius (for “All Shook Up), along with Hubbard, “La
Cage’s director, Lawrence Thelen, and music director Michael Morris, will get a
quick look at the skills – and subtle yet tell-tale attitudes and demeanors --
of dancers and actors. “Quick” means that Underwood has about 15 minutes to
teach groups of 12 to 14 dancers a brief routine he has choreographed for the
chorus part of the “We Are What We Are” number from “La Cage.”
As the first group of dancers troops into the rehearsal
room, Underwood immediately establishes a warm and supportive atmosphere,
joking with the dancers. Many of the male dancers have chosen to wear female
footwear -- Underwood points to one dancer wearing tan pumps and orange/brown
argyle socks and says, “I’m so jealous. Does your sister know you’re wearing
those?” There is nervous yet appreciative laughter.
The dancers stretch out and then Underwood begins the
process of teaching them the routine, demonstrating short combinations and then
having the dancers try them out. As the dancers move, Underwood shouts movement
cues: “Shoulder! Shoulder! Step! Kick!”
After an initial, somewhat awkward run-through there are
questions about movements and timing from the dancers that Underwood answers in
a soft, embracing voice, Amelius taking it all in while sitting on the floor,
his back against one of the full-length mirrors that line one wall.
The dancers again work the routine with Underwood urging
them on, a sympathetic drill sergeant counting out a syncopated cadence: “Step
– Touch! Step – Touch! Boom! Boom! Ladies and gentlemen, there has to be a
little bit of loveliness to it.”
Dancers auditioning for "La Cage" and "All Shook Up."
After each run-through, Underwood adds another series of
steps, one of them calling for the dancers to turn and perform a small leap,
their arms bent, hands scratching at the air in a kitten-like gesture. “It’s
just a little kitten,” Underwood calls out. He jumps, fingers fluttering as if
they have tiny claws. Several of the dancers imitate his movements, trying,
trying so hard to get it right, trying to understand what Underwood is looking
for.
Ten minutes into the audition and sweat has now appeared on
the dancers’ foreheads, stains their shirts – some dancers are obviously
comfortable with the routine while others still seem tentative – there’s some
bumping into each other and quick apologies: “Sorry! My fault.”
Underwood shows them the final steps. There’s another run-through,
and then the dancers are broken down into smaller groups and the tension in the
room rises a bit. Those dancers who, for one reason or another, were using
their fellow dancers to “hide” will now be out there for all to see – it’s
crunch time and everyone knows it. As Underwood calls out names – ladies first
-- Amelius spreads head sheets on the floor in front of him. The dancers are
keenly aware of his actions.
“Really take the floor. Don’t be shy,” Underwood counsels as
the first group of four dancers steps out into the center of the rehearsal
hall. Some dancers are smiling, others have eyes tight with concentration; body
language speaks volumes about insecurity and the discomfort of being judged.
“Give me a little attitude,” Underwood calls out. “I’m what
they call the ‘hit’ queen – I want you to do something on that hit,” referring
to body and head movement as the dancers’ feet hit the floor at the end of a
sequence. The music begins and the dancers start the routine. As they move
through the steps, Amelius occasionally picks up a head shot and stares out at
the dancers, who are concentrating on the routine, yes, but part of their
attention is on that head shot in Amelius’s hand. They are also aware that
Thelen is in the corner silently observing.
All too soon the routine is over. As those who are yet to be
judged politely applaud their fellow dancers’ efforts, Underwood squats down
near Amelius and makes quick notations on the backs of the head shots – “D1,”
“D5” – a “1’ basically means there’s no hope; a “3” means “fine” with some
work; a “5” means that, unbeknownst to that particular dancer, serious
attention will be given to him or her during the next stage of the auditions.
Underwood looks up at the dancers. “Jillian, how tall are you?”
Jillian answers, and the thoughts immediately running through her mind are
obvious: “What does his question mean? Why does he want to know? Am I too tall?
Too short? Is he considering me?”
After all of the small groups run through the routine the
dancers are thanked and excused. As they walk out of the room, Underwood,
Amelius, Hubbard and Thelen sift through the head shots, making quick comments:
“Keep him; he’s a possible.” “He’s great – broad shoulders.” “I’d give him
another shot.” Sometimes nothing needs to be said – just a wave of the hand
consigns a head sheet to the growing “No” pile.
Thelen makes a comment about one of the dancers and
Underwood jokingly responds: “You want the look, you want the voice, you want
the dancing and you want the talent. You don’t get everything.”
And then it begins again as another group of dancers files
into the room, and then another group…and another group. When it’s all over
some dancers will grab their gym bags and walk down the hall to the elevator
while others will stay for the second round, the singing auditions.
Dancers running through a routine at the casting call
Many of the dancers believe they have been judged solely on
their ability to duplicate the routine, but Underwood has been watching them
from the moment they walked into the rehearsal hall. “I can sense the ones who
don’t understand my sensibility,” he said. “And then I can tell who has the
technique, the ones who ‘understand’ the show.” Underwood continues, “When
they’re not dancing, if they just stand there…” his shoulders sag, his face
goes blank, “that says something.” Then the choreographer places his hands on
his hips and strikes a pose. “But if they show a little attitude, maybe even
give me a quick look and a confident smile – well, that says something too.”
11 a.m. The dancing portion of the casting call is over.
Amelius adjourns to a smaller room where he will audition actors and dancers
for roles in “All Shook Up.” The creative team for “La Cage” gathers in a
similar room.
It’s the day before Easter and some of Hubbard’s support
team is absent, so she will fill several roles, chief among them sorting
through all of the actors and dancers waiting in the hallway to be auditioned
and then greeting them at the door to the casting room. She will be moving constantly
for the next nine hours, always gracious, always welcoming.
The auditions have been scheduled in five-minute intervals.
The creative team sorts through lists and all too soon they are behind schedule
– it will take four hours before they finally catch up. Each member of the
creative team is a seasoned professional and they have worked together before,
but they will be looking at the actors who stand before them with slightly
different eyes.
Thelen, who will guide the rehearsal process, has certain
“types’ in mind for the various roles; Hubbard does as well. Sympathetic to
their needs, Underwood’s focus is on movement, while Morris has a different set
of criteria by which he will judge those who walk through the door.
“When we cast,” he said, “we want to make sure we have a
good balance of different vocal types – you know, sopranos, altos, tenors and
baritones, but the show is somewhat unique – it’s mostly men in the ensemble
and two male leads.”
If the director likes a certain actor, Morris will be
listening to decide whether, if the actor is cast, orchestration might have to
be transposed to fit the actor’s vocal range. A laborious task, but “I want to
make sure the actor shines as he was meant to,” Morris says.
All of the talent who will audition for the creative team
will sing a song – some will choose a song from the show, others will perform a
song from a different Broadway show, or a pop single or, in some cases,
something very eclectic and unexpected. One actor will sing “God Bless America.” The
actors may not realize it, but their choice of material is important.
“What they choose to sing,” Morris said, “well, it gives you
a quick look into the actor’s mind. You see if he or she intuitively understands
the show, if they’ve made an intelligent choice of material.”
If the actors are asked to come back – a “Call-back” – then
they will most likely perform a song from the show. But the call-backs are in
the future. Right now, it’s show time in a spare room that features one table,
a piano, a coat rack with five hooks and a small blackboard on the wall. There
is no dramatic lighting, no full orchestra, no costumes…and there’s an audience
there to judge on a level that can be mind numbing. Those waiting out in the
hallway know that this judgment will begin from the moment they walk through
the door. They’ve been through this before, but still…the stomach muscles tense
just a bit.
Actors and dancers in the hallway
waiting to audition at Pearl Studios
And so it begins. One young man enters and sings a song from
“Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.” He leaves. Morris comments – “He has problems.”
Thelen asks: “Can you work with him?”
“Well,” Morris says, “if we can avoid it,” and shrugs. None
of the members of the creative team wish to second-guess what the others are
thinking – opinions are expressed as hypotheticals.
The door opens and another actor walks in…and then another…all
carrying sheet music bound in binders, the pages covered in plastic sleeves.
There’s a song from “Thoroughly Modern Millie,” then “Where the Boys Are,” then
“It’s in His Kiss.” Some of the actors stare directly at the creative team
sitting behind the table while others focus on some point verging on infinity.
As each finishes his or her eighteen or twenty-four bars of song, Thelen gives
them some supportive words: “Very nice.” “Nice job,” and as they pick up their
sheet music Morris will often add, “You have a very nice voice.” The people
sitting in judgment know what these folks are going through, the emotions that
are churning inside as the actors smile, emote and try to win a job. There is
no cut-throat “Right! Next!” from the creative team, no Hollywood-image of “eat-up-the
talent” going on here.
Every once in a while, as a performer moves towards the
door, Thelen will clear his throat and ask, “Would it be possible for you to
come back, say around six o’clock?” The magic words. Most of the actors pause
for a second before responding – they don’t want to appear over-eager – and
then they say yes, it would be possible. They’re being called back. However,
some have conflicts – they’re in shows or singing at a church. Thelen, when he
can, makes accommodations. When the church singer eventually returns for his
call-back he thanks them all for seeing him early, “So I don’t go to hell.”
Thelen comments: “I don’t think we have that much control.”
As with Underwood, who watches his dancers before they start
dancing, Thelen is interested in how the actors and dancers comport themselves
before they start to perform. He greets them and asks a casual question or two.
“I’m interested in the conversation that we have before they start, in their
attitudes,” he explains. In a subtle way, it tells him what this or that actor
might be like to work with.
If a dancer is auditioning, when he has finished his number
Underwood will often ask if he can tap dance (most studios don’t allow tap
dancing – it ruins the floors), and if he can do a split. Some will hesitate,
others will swear they can do what Underwood asks, and some will demonstrate.
Over time it becomes apparent there is a marked difference
in the candidates, and it often has to do with what they do with the space they
are given. Some seem locked in place, sing their songs and then await judgment,
while others actually perform, moving about the room, using whatever is there,
including the piano, to build a character in the three or four minutes they are
actually offered to perform.
Given the nature of the show being auditioned for, there’s a
glamorous variety of footwear worn by many of the male actors – purple pumps
with sequins, platforms, three- and four-inch sling-back heels in various
colors. Some actors are dressed in jeans and T-shirts, others have a touch of
puce or violet in a scarf or bow tie.
The auditions and the songs continue – “Heat Wave,” “Here in
Eden,” “I Don’t
Want to Know,” “Almost Like Being in Love.” Interspersed with those auditioning
for ensemble and subordinate roles are those actors vying for the leads –
Georges and Albin. As they appear and leave a discussion commences – what
should be the age difference between the two leads? Thelen comments that in the
original production no mention was made of age. Lines in the current script
referencing age will be cut. The discussion segues to vocal quality and Morris
comments: “I don’t think we need a Pavorati for either of these roles.”
Questions about who will play the lead roles – the chemistry between the two
actors, their respective ages, their acting styles – will continue throughout
the afternoon and well into the evening. At one point Hubbard comments: “What’s
important is the relationship between Albin and Georges – Albin’s the mother,
the caretaker.”
And then there are the little things in the audition process
that mean so much. One actor comes in with a 4x5 head shot (most are 8x10). He
leaves and Hubbard turns the head shot over to read the credits, rubs her eyes
and complains: “I can’t read this.” The head shot gets dropped into the “No”
pile.
Another young man does his stuff, and when he leaves someone
comments about his credits, that he’s
only done college productions but he’s already got a Equity card,
which means that if he’s hired he gets paid a higher rate and gets a Equity contract; such contracts, for Ivortyon, are limited – a total of five for the
entire cast. At other theaters they’re even more limited. Hubbard shakes her
head. “How is he supposed to get experience?” she says. Ah, the dark lining in
the silver cloud.
One actor comes in and goes over the top. He’s “big” from
start to finish in his number – he uses all the space available and makes every
move possible. A killer audition? No. When he leaves, Underwoood comments: “He
had no restraint. You do one big thing. Everything can’t be big.” He’s probably
right, but you can’t help but wonder what went through the actor’s mind as he
prepared for his audition: “If I do this, and then I do this, then I do this –
I’ll blow them away.” Books have been written about the auditioning process,
but each audition is a unique dynamic and there are, essentially, no guidelines
that universally apply, except, perhaps, to smile no matter what happens. It’s
all in the moment, the gestalt. It has as much to do with the chemistry of the
creative team observing as it does the actual performance by the actor.
The songs keep coming: “I’ve Got Your Number,” “Love Me or
Leave Me,” “The Best of Times,” “Fabulous Feet.” An actor comes in hoping to be
cast for one of the leads. He leaves and Hubbard says: “He looks like a Georges
but sounds like an Albin.” Another actor enters and departs – Thelen: “He has
sort of dead eyes.”
It sounds cut-throat, but it isn’t. In this drab room with
harsh lighting, Hubbard, Thelen, Underwood and Morris are intellectually and
artistically “squinting,” trying to envision an actor up there on the stage at
Ivoryton, under the lights, in costume, relating to his or her fellow actors
and the people sitting out in the audience, most of whom will be, to say the
least, mature. Decisions made in these hours will have positive or negative
repercussions, and there’s no gold-standard check-list…all the team can do is
rely on experience, individual visions of what should be the ideal…and gut
instincts.
Another actor enters, a dancer, and absolutely nails the
audition. Underwood asked about tap and the actor goes into a tap routine;
Underwood asks about splits -- the actor does a right and then a left split.
Thelen asks where he lives. He’s local, which means he won’t need housing. He
exits with a smile and a wave. As the door closes, Underwood says, “He’s going
to look lovely in a dress.” Hubbard stands and stretches: “I feel so much
happier now.”
As the door continues to open and close the clock inches
towards 5 p.m. There have been several five-minute breaks, but none of the
casting team has eaten anything other than a shared power bar since 9 a.m.
Attention holds, but energy is starting to flag. The door opens and close, opens
and closes, and the songs keep coming: “Over Here,” “Take a Moment,” The Devil
You Know.” Splits? Yes? Tap? Basic tap. An actor has a good voice and gets a
warm “Thank you,” from Thelen, who then turns over the actor’s head sheet: “He’s
never worked the same place twice. That means he’s probably difficult to work
with – they don’t want to work with him again.” Maybe so, maybe not. Snap
judgments are being made because they have to be made. Between the five-minute
auditions the discussion about assigning Equity contracts is again brought up – it
sounds like the group is planning a family party and trying to decide who will be
seated next to whom. There’s a lot of “If we do this then we can do that,” but
it’s all still up in the air.
A dancer stands before the group and sings his song very
credibly. He’s thanked. As the door closes there is silence. Finally, Underwood
says, “Talent is a very…” and wiggles his fingers. “It either attracts you or
it doesn’t.” Enough said. The auditions move on. An actress comes in and sings
“The Best of Times” from the show – an acceptable rendition, but mid-way
through the song the tone of her voice changes, as if she’s shifted vocal
gears. She leaves and Morris explains: “It’s called ‘flipping,’” he says. “The
voice starts in the chest and then shifts to the head. A lot of singers, like
Idina Menzel, can get a ‘solid mix.’ It sounds like it’s coming from the chest
but it’s really coming from the head.”
The clock continues to tick. Some actors are asked to come
back at 6 p.m., some are gracefully sent on their way. And finally part two is
over. It’s 5 p.m. The group leaves the building to see sunlight for the first
time in eight hours. A quick bite to eat, then it’s back to Pearl Studios for
the call-backs…and crunch time, for decisions have to be made and there’s only
two hours left in which to make them.
Actors studying "sides" for their call-back auditions
Six p.m. Actors line the hallway studying “sides”
–photocopied pages from the musical’s book. Inside the casting room, Underwood
sets up another table and head sheets are spread out and paired, determining
who will audition with whom. There are not enough “sides” for a scene, so
Hubbard rushes out to make additional photocopies. She comes back only to
realize she’s photocopied the wrong scene. “That’s three dollars down the
drain,” she says as she scurries back out.
As the group waits for the first call-backs to begin,
Underwood explains, “You make your selections but you don’t always get whom you
want. I wish it was just based on talent but it isn’t. It’s contracts and who
needs housing and who is available and who says yes then bails out because he’s
got a better offer. You put it together the best you can.”
Allison Webb and Zach Trimmer audition for the roles
of Anne and Jean-Michel. They will win the parts.
The first to read for parts are Allison Webb and Zach
Trimmer, she reading for the part of Anne and he reading for that of Jean-Michel.
They do a short scene, Trimmer is thanked and Webb is asked to stay. She does
the scene with three other male actors, adroitly adapting to each actor’s style
and sense of what he thinks is happening in the scene, including whether the
actor has envisioned movement stage right or stage left. She just goes with the
flow and then brightly thanks all assembled for the opportunity. She’s young,
but she knows what she is doing.
The door opens and closes and actor after actor reads for
parts. Several pairs of actors read two scenes involving Georges and Albin; the
casting team’s attention is intense, for it’s these two roles that will make or
break the show, and a mistake in casting here can mean disaster.
MarTina Vidmar auditioning for the role of Jacqueline. She will be cast.
MarTina Vidmar returns to read for the role of Jacqueline.
She takes a deep breath, wiggles her shoulders, and immediately turns into a
somewhat venomous French coquette. Her accent is established and held
throughout her reading, her character’s intentions obvious. She leaves and
there are nods and smiles.
The casting decisions are starting to become more obvious,
but not so for the two leads. Pairs of actors are brought in and asked to read
two different scenes. David Edwards, who had wowed the casting team during the
initial auditions, seems to have the nod for the role of Albin, but the
question remains, who will play against him as Georges? Several actors read,
and it comes down to two.
Larry Thelen, Jacqui Hubbard, Todd Underwood and Michael Morris
watch David Edwards audition for the role of Albin
It’s 7:15, and both actors are asked to come back and sing
the song that the other sang in the initial auditions – they do so, and then are
asked to wait outside as Hubbard and Thelen politely yet firmly discuss pros
and cons. There is no clear agreement, so Edwards, who initially read with one of the actors, is now asked to read two scenes with the second actor. Still, no agreement as to
who is to get the nod as Georges. A suggestion is made: Georges is the emcee at
the cabaret; can each actor be seen in a scene in which he performs that
function? Of course, but it will be a cold reading – that is, the actors will
not have had time to study their lines.
Individually, the two actors return and run though
the scene. It’s now 7:40 p.m. With the two actors now waiting outside in the hall,
Hubbard says, “The play is about the relationship between the two men. It’s a
relationship that is not in jeopardy.” She is actually commenting about the two
actors’ relative size and age. There is more discussion as the clock’s minute
hand edges ever upward. Both Hubbard and Thelen again express their opinions.
David Edwards and James Van Treuren
auditioning for the roles of Albin and Georges
Thelen says, “Edwards is going to overshadow everyone else
in the show – he’s going to drive the show.” He again opts for his choice for
the actor to play against Edwards. As the minute hand reaches towards 12,
Hubbard concedes to her director and a decision is made.
And then there are the dancers. The casting crew stands
behind a table on which head shots have been arranged in two rows by
Underwood. He starts to comment about his choices and then Amelius, who has
joined them after closing out the casting for “All Shook Up,” points to one
head sheet and says, “He’s a terror. I spoke to someone who’s worked with him.
He’s really difficult; he sits on the side and snipes at his fellow dancers.”
The head shot is lifted and removed from the arrangement. The theater world is
a small world – what you do in Paducah or Des Moines will reverberate in New York.
Amelius points to another head shot: “He needs some
whitening strips on his teeth. Put lipstick on him and it’s going to be obvious.”
Another head shot gets shunted aside. And so it goes. Decisions made based
on…what? Looks, style, size, impression, a moment in the audition that works,
that doesn’t, personal preference, nervousness, a little bit of body language?
There is no textbook that can cover all the parameters, all the variables.
It’s 8 p.m. and the show has been cast…maybe. It all depends
on how the actors respond to calls that will go out on Monday
and…well…serendipity. Head shots of “possibles” are not thrown away because
rehearsals are three months away and a lot can happen in the interim. That’s
show business.
Putting it Together
First production
meeting -- Thursday, April 24.
Most members of the creative and production teams have
gathered at the Ivortyon Playhouse for an initial discussion of the staging of
the show. Hubbard arrives several minutes late – she’s been at a high school
career day. “I was the resident dream-crusher,” she says as she sits down at
the table, “A little girl came up and said, ‘I want to be a dancer.’” Hubbard
drops her voice to growl-level: “I said, ‘Don’t!’” She laughs. It’s apparent
that is actually not what she told the young lady – but maybe it was what she
was thinking. “Then a boy came up and asked what the starting wage was for an
actor. I said, ‘Do you know what minimum wage is? Well, think lower.’ He ran
off to one of the other tables. ‘Dental hygienist’ I think.”
The first production meeting
The acting profession – and actors -- is on Hubbard’s mind.
One of the actors they had seen in Ivoryton three weeks ago, whom they were
going to cast, has since accepted another role. Of greater import, one of the
two male leads has yet to commit. Hubbard would very much like to cast him but
he’s talking with his agent, though there may be extenuating circumstances stemming
from what occurred during the auditions in New York. It all remains to be seen – she’s
going to give him until Saturday to commit or say nay. Then…? That’s why you
never throw away a head shot.
Dan Nischan, the show’s technical director, steers the
meeting. With the ghost light up on the stage casting a faint glow on the set
of Neil Simon’s “I Ought to Be in Pictures,” which is currently running at the
Playhouse, and framed photographs of such luminaries as Celeste Holmes, Alan
Alda, Paul Robeson, Douglas Fairbanks Jr., Elaine Stritch and, of course, Kate
Hepburn -- all of whom have appeared on Ivoryton’s venerable stage – gracing
the theater’s walls, Nischan announces that they are ahead of schedule (it will
be a statement that he will later regret). No one responds, knowing full well
that being ahead of schedule simply means that problems have yet to arise that
will cause schedules to be re-written or…scrapped.
Rough sketches of the set done by Cully Long
Cully Long, the show’s set designer, is the focus of
everyone’s attention. Using a red pen, he has roughed out what the basic sets
might look like. “I’m very much in the idea phase right now,” he says. “It’s
coming down to mechanics for me. Figure out how things will work and then we’ll
worry about what it all looks like.”
Nischan turns to Thelen and asks for his vision of the
musical.
“I don’t have a vision yet,” Thelen says, “but I’m intrigued
by the possibility of using the turntable.” What he is referring to is a
nine-foot turntable, or revolve, that will be used in “All Shook Up,” the
production that will precede “La Cage.” Perhaps it can be worked into some of
the “La Cage” numbers. At this stage in the development of the show, “perhaps”
is one of the operative words, for no one really has a clear idea of the show’s
look yet – it will evolve over time and through discussions…and the reality of
what can be done.
It’s agreed that the band will be placed upstage, but the
question arises as to how the band will be masked when it is not directly
involved in a scene. Lang suggests the use of barn doors that will slide open
and closed as needed, their fronts painted a color that will be neutral for the
show. He’s also thinking of two staircases in front of the revolve that will,
essentially, lead to nowhere. The staircases would also pivot when not in use
to form walls.
Thelen has a problem with the no-exit staircases. “There’s
no escape off the top of the stairs,” he says. “I like the look, but if there’s
no escape it will be boring, the dancers go up and then they just come back
down.”
Lang responds: “We can definitely figure out a place for
them to go.”
Nischan adds, “Especially if all of our scenes are
pre-dressed,” meaning that the scenery and props for scenes are already in
place and are basically just revealed.
Given the somewhat restricted size of the Ivoryton stage,
the lack of fly space plus the shallow wings, the focus of much of the meeting
is how to visually differentiate the major scenes which will occur on-stage at
the club (the major production numbers), back-stage, at a café or on a street,
in Albin and Georges’ apartment and in a restaurant. Curtains can be of use –
there are plans to employ a rain curtain and perhaps a black scrim – and the
apartment, Lang suggests, can be created by the use of wagons, which are mobile
platforms, with pre-set scenery, that can be pushed/rolled into and out of
place as needed.
Lang turns to Underwood to caution about the wagons, which
will have to slide across the floor. “They’ll be on tracks, maybe two or three
inches wide and maybe a quarter-inch high.” He mentions this as a concern for
the dancers, who will be wearing high heels. The track could present a “trip
trap.” Underwood shrugs. “Most of them auditioned in heels,” he says. He
doesn’t seem concerned.
The meeting continues with a lot of fluttering hand
movements as people attempt to describe how scenery will slide, open, close,
nest, appear and disappear. However, there’s not much more to decide at this
stage. It’s all conceptual, with the iffy “perhaps’ hanging over everything.
The hour assigned for the meeting draws to a close. Nothing
has really been decided, but there’s a sense of direction, a feel for what
might be possible.
Lang: “I’m going to start building something a bit more
visual.”
Thelen: “Give me a few days to work through the script.”
As it stands right now, what “La Cage” will look like is as
much up in the air as who will be performing in it, and yet everyone at the
table knows this is how it is done, a voicing of the ‘perhaps’ tempered by the
reality of what will prove to be possible. They have three months to put it all
together, bring it to life. All at the table know that problems will arise that
will need to be solved, that there will be surprises, setbacks,
frustrations…and a lot of hard work. They’ve been through this before, they’ve
worked together before, and they know that, somehow, it will all get done.
Throughout the meeting, Hubbard has been relatively silent.
She is not a micro-manager. She has chosen her creative and production teams
and she allows them to do what they do best. There is no sense of ‘management’
looming over the process. As necessary, she will comment, she will nudge, but
essentially she has made her decisions about who will bring “La Cage” to the
stage and she is comfortable with those decisions. That comfort level will
waver a bit as the process moves forward.
The Choreography
Thursday, May 8.
Underwood drives up from New York City to discuss his vision for the
show’s choreography. As he sits at a table in a restaurant in Saugatuck, Ct, occasionally
addressing spiced chicken wings and a salad, he talks about the process of
creating movement.
Todd Underwood, the show's choreographer
The show has been on Broadway several times and was made
into a film, so there’s ample reference to how other choreographers have
approached the task, but for Underwood that’s somewhat irrelevant.
“Most of it will be my own,” he says, thin, supple fingers
extending to emphasize ownership. “I’ll throw a nod to some things from the
original, but I didn’t see the revival, but I know the music, the tempo was
different.”
He begins the process of creating the choreography by just
listening to the music. “The music dictates the style,” he says, “it leads you
down a path, gives you a road map, a possibility. A picture will come into my
head,” and then he shrugged. “It doesn’t always work out.” His words will prove
to be prophetic.
However, Underwood recognizes that he alone is not creating
the choreography, that it will have to be translated by the dancers, and he is
more than open to seeing what they bring to the party. “I want to let them
create and watch them,” he said, “to use, if possible, what characters they
come up with.” His attitude is, if nothing else, embracing; although he knows
what he wants he shies away from the dictatorial approach. “I want the audience
to see the dancers as individual people,” he says, “and the dancers will often
‘tell me’ who they think their characters are.”
As he envisions the dancers’ movements he writes down what
he sees in his mind’s eye, always trying to keep it as simple as possible. “You
know,” Underwood said, “do the ‘twinkle’ here, do the ‘jazzy arm’ there. That
would be the first layer, and then, with the ‘twinkle’ do this, you move the
foot up, the shoulder goes up, the head goes there. What we’re trying to do is
punctuate the music.”
In the process of creating the choreography he will be
determining where and when his actors move, but actors’ movements are normally
the province of the director, so Underwood and Thelen have to come to an
understanding about who does what. “We had a discussion about what each of us
was going to do,” Underwood said. “I’ll do the choreography, he’ll do the
blocking, but there are numbers that require what we call ‘staging.’ Take the
number ‘Mascara’ (performed by Albin as he transforms into Zaza) – it really is
movement-based because of the eyelashes and the make-up and hair and the dress
and the shoes, that all can be done in a very choreographic way, so that’s one
of the numbers I’m going to be doing.”
"The music dictates the style." Underwood explaining
how he will create the choreography for the show
Underwood is well aware of Ivoryton’s space limitations and
one of his tasks will be to make the stage, and what is happening on the stage,
seem bigger than it really is. He suggests that it is “all about how the number
builds.” As an example, for the opening number – “We Are Who We Are,” performed
by the Cagelles – Underwood is planning to use the revolve that Long has
designed. His thinking, which may change when he and the actors finally have
access to the stage, calls for all of the “girls” to begin on the revolve with
very minimal, simple steps. “As the song progresses,” he explained. “they will
come off the revolve; as the number proceeds it builds from being just
mid-stage to using the entire stage and that will give the illusion the theater
is bigger. Of course, lighting helps and costumes help, and keeping the number
building and moving, making sure that it doesn’t become stagnant – using those
staircases, using the revolve, using different entrances --- they can enter
anywhere.”
Underwood pointed out that if directors, set designers and
choreographers don’t “play” with the space they are given, they often end up
with what he calls “a very flat show.” He noted that “levels” (basically small
platforms) are “incredibly useful,” as are different entrance and exit points.
Based on what he saw at the New York casting call, Underwoord selected
eight dancers; he considers himself very lucky that seven out of the eight
turned out to be available, and the replacement for his eighth selection is, in
his words, “incredible.” He acknowledged once again that “casting is a big
puzzle,” but once the show is cast you go with what you’ve got and don’t look
back, you just “have to put the show together.”
The time allotted for this “putting it together” is very
limited. Rehearsals begin July 22, which will give Underwood 11 days to work
with the actors before the first technical rehearsal (a rehearsal most actors
don’t look forward to, for it consists of a lot of multiple run-throughs of the
same scenes, then a lot of standing around as the technicians adjust lights and
marks [where an actor must stand so the lighting illuminates him], move sets,
adjust sound levels and tweak cues.) It’s an intensive, demanding time, and
Underwood knows that, so during the casting in New York he attempted to gauge which of the
actors were up to the task, which would maintain a sense of humor during the
grueling 11 days. That’s why he has chosen the style he has: laid back and
supportive, a style that was obvious during the casting call.
“You want to make them relax,” he explained. “You want to
get to see their personalities and you want to stay away from people you sense
don’t know how to have fun.” Although he is laid back he is also demanding,
ruling with an iron fist in a velvet glove. “I work them,” he said. “Often,
people – actors, dancers – aren’t pushed to be better. I like to push.”
The initial rehearsals will be held off-site, which means
that the sets will not be there. To compensate, the rehearsal floor will be
taped, approximating where walls and staircases, entrances and exits, will be,
but the emphasis is on “approximating,” for once the cast transfers to the
theater and actually gets to work with the sets, things might…no, things will
change, and the actors have to be flexible enough to embrace those changes. In
fact, there will be times when a part of a number, or an entire number, will
have to be re-thought, or moves that Underwoood thought would take eight counts
will actually demand 12 counts. Underwood hopes he has chosen his actors wisely,
for if they can’t handle the possibility (inevitability) that things will
change right up until opening night there will be problems that affect the
show.
Most of the numbers he will be choreographing are ensembles,
and there’s always the possibility that one or more of the actors will, of an
evening, out of boredom or personal concerns, just go through the moves or “call
in” a performance. Underwood is aware of this. “I tell them,” he said, leaning
over his chicken wings and salad, hands gripping the edge of the table, “there
will always be someone watching you…usually that person is me. When I teach a
master class I tell my students, whatever is going on, give all of your energy,
focus on the moment.”
The operative words are “focus” and “moment.” Underwood
suggested that there are shows where the creative team simply hasn’t focused
the show, worked the “moments,” hasn’t built those moments so that the audience
becomes, well, a bit anxious in anticipation of the moments’ closure. In other
words, what he tries to do with his choreography is create a certain amount of
tension in the audience, then build on that tension until the audience needs a
release, and that release is applause. If you don’t get that response, well,
you know you’ve done something wrong.
A playwright builds these “moments” with words -- choreographers
build them with movement, and Underwood is a student of movement, so much so
that he will often find himself in Manhattan’s Times Square simply watching people as they maneuver
through the bustling thoroughfare. “It’s truly a scene,” he said. “There’s
every type of person, character, walking pattern. I love watching people as
they move through their everyday environment. I get ‘walks’ from people.” His study of people’s modes of perambulation
will be put to use when he choreographs the “With Anne on My Arm” number, which
takes Jean-Michel and Anne from the apartment and out onto the street.
Underwood’s challenge is to convey the couple’s changing moods as they change
environments, to tell part of the story. “If there’s no story behind it,” he
explained, “it just looks like dancing.”
Once the show opens, Underwood will drop by to check on what
has happened to his original choreography, looking to see if his “original
intent” has been lost. However, he understands that he is not dealing with
robots. In fact, he loves to see how the dancers have enriched what they do. “I
love to go back after a week,” he said, “and see that they’ve let the show
become part of themselves. I wait a week, until everybody knows where
everything is, knows how much time they have to do what they have to do, and
then see that the show has become ‘their show.’”
It remains to be seen if that will happen with Ivoryton’s
“La Cage.”
The Direction
Thursday, May 22
Early on in the first production meeting, Thelen was asked
what his vision was for the show; his answer then was that he didn’t have one
yet. Almost a month later, Thelen, sitting in his office at his home in Haddam, Ct.,
elaborated on the idea of a director having a “vision” for a show and how, at
this stage of the game, he plans to stage “La Cage.”
“You talk about ‘vision’ or ‘concept,’” Thelen said,
clasping a coffee cup in both hands, “I always sort of shudder when somebody
says, ‘What’s your concept for this show?’ Whenever I think of ‘concept’ I
think of [Bob] Fosse approaching ‘Pippin’ and how he laid some big ‘concept’ on
the show and took the show in a totally different direction. My ‘concept’ is to
do the best possible production in this theater with this cast at this time.”
Thelen doesn’t think much of directors who come into a
project believing that they intuitively know better than the writers and
composers who have labored two or three years in creating the show. Though he
disdains the idea of “concept,” he will admit that he has a focus for “La
Cage,” which is the relationship between the two main characters, Georges and
Albin. “That love relationship has lasted well over 20 years and the strength
of that love now has to tackle this new problem.” No matter where he might
mount this particular show, Thelen explained, that clear focus would not
change. That being said, he acknowledges that the actual theater – its
dimensions, its limitations – will influence how the show is actually staged.
Lawrence Thelen commenting on how
he will approach the staging of "La Cage"
“Doing this show at Ivoryton,” he said, “you don’t have a
fly system, you have a small stage, you have a 300-seat audience, you have five
Equity contracts for a cast of 19. I’ve got a great cast, but all of that’s
going to influence how you approach this show. All of a sudden the set becomes
pretty stationary -- there’s not a lot of places it can go. If you have a fly
system you can fly out multiple sets – if I was working in a proscenium stage
[referring to a ‘picture frame’ stage] with a fly system I would probably
approach it differently.”
When Thelen takes on a revival of a show, as he has with “La
Cage,” he draws on rather than disdains the work of those who have staged the
show before him while, at the same time, being acutely aware that, as he put
it, “There are so many ways a director can screw up a show.” Years ago, Thelen
said, he was seeing so many bad productions of musicals around the country
directed by people who had no idea what they were doing that he was motivated
to write a book -- “The Show Makers” – which consists of a series of interviews
with directors of Broadway musicals in which they discuss how they pursue their
craft. In mentioning the book, Thelen came back to the idea of not fiddling
with or putting a different spin on an existing work. “What’s wrong with doing
a show…as it is?” he said. “That’s what people are coming to see, Rather than
put your energies and time into some concept that has nothing to do with the
show, put your energies into finding out what the writers were saying and why
they said it that way, and how to best express that.”
When Thelen begins rehearsals he will be working with two
men who have already played the roles of Georges and Albin. Some directors
might see this as a potential problem in which the actors might seek to do it
“their way” rather than being guided by the director. Thelen doesn’t hold with
this. “If I’m doing a Goodspeed show,” Thelen said, referring to productions at
the Goodspeed Opeara House in East Haddam, “and I have five weeks of rehearsal,
I might want to start from scratch with somebody who’s never done the role
before, but in a two-week rehearsal schedule, how great to have somebody come
in who already has a sense of the character, already has a sense of the songs,
already has a sense of the show, already has a sense of the lines. You’re
starting at 50 percent.”
Once the rehearsals begin, Thelen and his cast will be
working in the rehearsal hall and will only have access to the stage several
days before the technical rehearsal. The first time the actors walk the stage
is what Thelen calls a “spacing rehearsal,” in which the actors get a feel for
the space they will be working in. “You’re really working on how far downstage
an actor has to come to be in his special,” Thelen said, referring to a light,
or an “instrument,” as it is referred to in the business, that is devoted
solely to the illumination of one character. “It’s not a lost rehearsal,”
Thelen explained, “it’s more about the nuts and bolts of putting this
particular show on in this particular stage than refining how we tell the
story.”
Mention of the necessity of telling a story leads Thelen
into a discussion of the story “La Cage” has to offer and the challenges inherent
in how this story unfolds. “The plot for this show is so slight,” Thelen said.
“It’s basically Jean-Michel comes home to his father and says, ‘I’m getting
married and I’m marrying a woman whose parents are not open-minded enough to
accept your lifestyle. Deal with it.’ And Georges and Albin have to overcome
that. That’s it! I mean, I can’t say the plot of ‘West Side Story’ in one
sentence. So you’re really dealing with a lot of other components.”
To add to the “trickiness” of staging “La Cage,” Thelen pointed
out that the conflict is not introduced until 20 or 25 minutes into the show –
Jean-Michel doesn’t come home until the fifth scene -- which means you are
dealing with what Thelen terms “soft material,” – essentially exposition,
establishment of setting and character development. “You have 25 minutes of
having to entertain your audience, keep their interest, keep their focus on
something so that when the plot does come around they are still interested.” A
problem like this doesn’t exist in such shows as “Hello, Dolly!” or “West Side
Story,” in which the conflict – Dolly deciding to marry Horace Vandergelder;
the Jets and the Sharks vying for control of their turf – is made manifest
right from the start. “So,” Thelen suggested, “with ‘La Cage’ you have the
added responsibility of holding the audience’s interest long enough for the
‘story’ to start, and a lot of that responsibility falls on the shoulders of
the choreographer.” It’s a big responsibility, for if the audience isn’t
engaged or loses interest, Thelen suggested, then “the audience is going to
fade out on you, and once they fade it’s very hard to get them to re-engage.”
Engaging the audience also entails controlling the pacing of
the show, and pacing is greatly affected by how the cast gets from one scene to
the next. These transitions – how they are handled – have inherent in them the
possibility of boring an audience. “When I was in high school,” Thelen said,
“you did a scene in a musical and then it ended and you had a blackout and the
band started up some scene-changing music while the set was changed. Well, you
lose your audience in those moments – they’re deadly at this level of theater.”
Thus, how Thelen approaches the staging of a show will be dictated by how he
wants the show to “flow,” and this is dictated by the set that Long will create
for the show, a set “that will allow us to make those transitions move,” Thelen
said, “and be part of the show as opposed to a respite from the show.”
Once the show is up and running, Thelen, like Underwood,
will drop by to see how the show has “matured.” He expects that there will be
slight changes as the actors, often based on audience reaction, modify what
they are doing. This doesn’t bother him in the least. “It’s one of those things
you learn as a director,” Thelen said. “When you’re a young director, you want
them to execute what you say to the ‘T’ and you don’t want it to change. As you
mature you realize that you need that audience, because the audience will take
that show to a better place than you as a director could take it alone. Where
the audience laughs, where the audience isn’t going to laugh, where they’re
going to applaud more than you thought -- all of those things are going to
affect how the performances change.”
Thelen often lets his cast find its own way. It all depends
on the length of the run. If the show runs for only two or three weeks there’s
just not enough time for change to occur; for a longer run change is possible,
as is time for reflection on whether or not the show is going in the right
direction. Thelen believes that “more often than not a cast will grow to create
a better show.” However, there are exceptions to the rule – conflicts amongst
cast members can send a show off into the darkness; egos can interfere with the
show’s coherence, its very soul. Consideration of these possibilities has inevitably
brought Thelen to consider the importance of teamwork in mounting and
maintaining a musical.
“They always talk about how important sports are in
education and, if necessary, cut the arts and keep sports because sports teach
teamwork and all that,” Thelen said, leaning forward as he warmed to the topic.
“But there’s no greater teamwork than that found in putting on a musical
because you’ve got to work together. You have to rely on your fellow actors –
they’ve got to give you the next line; you can’t do the whole show by yourself.
It’s like a good football play; when it works it works because everyone does
what he’s supposed to do.” He sat back, sipped from his coffee cup, then said:
“In a musical you really can’t be selfish.”
With regards to teamwork, and given the nature of the show,
Thelen will be working closely with Underwood to create the flow – the movement
– that will make the show look seamless to the audience. As Underwood
mentioned, he and Thelen have already decided who will choreograph or block
which scenes, but attention must still be paid to transitions from one scene to
another, from, say, movement of actors into or out of a production number.
Thelen won’t give serious attention to possible blocking until he receives a scale
model of the set from Long, but once he has that model he still won’t set the
movement of his actors in stone. He believes that blocking is relatively
simple. In fact, “My grandmother can do blocking,” he said. However, if he
becomes too rigid, too dictatorial, he will lose the opportunity to draw on the
experience of his actors, their sense of where they should be at a certain
moment and what they should be doing. His experience, most recently with
directing “Dream Girls” at Ivoryton last season, has taught him that his actors
often come up with suggestions that just make a scene work better, and to
disregard these suggestions is to limit possibilities, possibilities that can
lead to turning a mediocre scene into a central moment of the show for the
audience.
What Thelen will come to the first rehearsals with is what
he calls “a skeleton,” a sense of where his actors should be entering and
exiting, where they should move. He’ll provide that skeleton and then let his
actors “play with it, and from that they may come up with better ideas.” Yet,
he will always have a sense of what is supposed to be happening on stage. As he
explained, “If there’s a really strong moment I’m going to want to bring them
downstage; if there’s a really strong character in a scene I’ll want to have
him towering over the other characters. I mean, there are certain tricks that you
are naturally going to want to play, but in terms of, say, ‘Cross down right
three steps, now cross back and lift your left arm’ – you learn all of these
specific things as an actor. It’s a handicap, I find, to tie your actors to
such strict blocking right off the bat, because then they feel there’s no room
for contribution, and I want them to contribute, I want to hear what they have
to say. You explain where you want the scene to go and let them fill in the
blood and guts.”
Movement of actors, Thelen believes, is trickier in a
musical than in a play, because you have to set up a musical number. “What I
hate is when the actors do a scene and then as the music starts everyone
repositions themselves to where the choreography needs to start. I want to get
them to those positions before so when the music takes off they take off too.
How can you be so tied to a piece of blocking that it can’t be changed?”
Thelen reached forward and set his coffee cup down on a
small end table, sat back, and said. “You know, directing is not about
blocking, it’s about storytelling. The blocking…well…you move the actors so the
audience knows where to look at a certain moment, but you want to lead the
company, emotionally, to the point where the audience feels something, feels
laughter, feels sympathy, feels…whatever. That’s directing.”
More of the pieces.
Second production
meeting – Thursday, June 12
Things have happened since the last production meeting on
April 24. The cast has been set, or so it would appear, and all on the
production and creative teams have been doing some thinking, chief among them Long.
He has taken his initial, rough sketches and changed them into four-color designs,
which he has on his Ipad.
He, along with the Thelen, Nischan, master carpenter Noah
Rice, production manager Steve Johnson, Njaye Olds, the costume designer, and
Jo Nazro and Holly Price, electrician/sound engineer and prop mistress
respectively, sit at a long table in a somewhat bare side room at Ivoryton’s
business office, which is situated in a small industrial park about a mile from
the theater.
Dan Nischan, Cully Long and
Lawrence Thelen discuss set designs.
Thelen, who chairs the meeting, turns to Long first, and for
the next half-hour or so he and the set designer will play a
question-and-answer, what-if game as they try to merge Thelen’s “vision” of the
show – what will happen, where will the actors move, what will be the look of
the scenes – with the reality of what can and cannot be done on the Ivoryton
stage. All attending have worked together before, so the discussion is
interspersed with some comments, often humorous, sometimes a bit sarcastic,
about previous shows at Ivoryton or shows at other venues. It’s a relaxed
atmosphere filled with a lot of verbal “shorthand” and sentences that don’t
need to be completed.
Long is soon out of his seat. His Ipad is on the table in
front of Thelen as the two discuss the positioning of a door, the need to hide
signage for the café when it’s not in use. The others at the meeting listen
quietly as Thelen shifts from leaning over the electronic display to sitting
upright and waving his hands, drawing pieces of the set in the air, asking
questions. As he does so, Long grabs a pad and begins quickly sketching. It
appears that they are communicating, and they are at this point, but things can
change.
Questions about specific elements in the set lead to quick
discussions of movement of actors, transitions between scenes and the use of
light to accent or mask scenic elements (the lighting director is, noticeably,
absent from the meeting). Often, Long answers Thelen’s questions with a
variation of “it’s a matter of space available.” The conversation moves to the
size of a door through which actors, many of them coiffed in rather large wigs,
will have to enter and exit. The size of the door may require some bending down
by the actors. Thelen comments: “They’re young and agile – they can do it.” The
dimensions must also take into account that several actors dressed as café
waiters will use the entrance to bring in trays of food to serve to the café
patrons. Long bends over and again scratches out quick designs on his pad.
The conversation shifts to the birdcage, the semi-enclosed
space where the Cagelles will perform. Again, size is a concern, for the
actors’ costumes will be substantial and the wigs impressive. Thelen eases some
of the concerns when he announces that only four actors will be in the cage, thus
diminishing the need for space. However, actual design and execution of this
“cage” will come to haunt the production.
Talk quickly shifts to the living room where the two main
characters, Georges and Albin, will have to entertain Anne’s ultra-conservative
parents.
“The living room is supposed to be pink,” Thelen says.
“Right,” Long says. “How over-the-top? How stylish?”
“As over the top as you can go,” then shifts gears, thinking
about the movement of actors. “But, we need three entrances. I don’t know how
you’re going to get them in.”
They both look at the design image on the Ipad.
“Well, they could be doors, or just door frames,” Long says,
then sits and picks up some small pieces of folded cardboard and starts
rearranging them, envisioning how it all might work, might come together.
Thelen interrupts his musings.
“The only thing missing is a front door – I have to have a
front door, something to keep the paparazzi out in the second act.”
More “what-ifs?” follow: the furniture in the apartment – what
can be kept open – perhaps light on a scrim can create the needed pink – and
what about the crucifix, maybe it can be put on a track and rolled in, because
it has to be big, the bigger the better (there will eventually be two smaller
crucifixes). Thelen’s overall point is that he wants excess, excess in the
original design of the living room – in essence he wants it to scream “gay” –
and then when Geoges and Albin have to go “straight,” they do it with the same
excess, they just won’t be practicing Christians with a discrete crucifix on
the wall, how they re-decorate must scream Christianity. This is the image
Thelen has – the reality will prove to be a bit different.
Long has focused on Thelen’s comment about the need for a
front door. “The smaller birdcage – the extra space may allow for the front
door to be moved.” They look at the Ipad on the table, and the subject of the
barn doors, discussed in the first production meeting, comes up again: can
there be a functional door in the barn doors?
Thelen comes back to the crucifix, again emphasizing that it
should be ‘huge,” which leads the discussion back to the re-decoration of the
apartment – maybe some of the images, the crucifix, for example, could be
pre-hung and rolled in on racks – ah, but then it’s the question of the limited
space in the wings.
Members of the production staff listen to
Thelen and Lang discuss design options.
Space – space to store things, space to allow the actors
freedom of movement – the subject dominates every aspect of the production
meeting. The mere mention of space again raises a question about the size of
the costumes the Cagelles will be wearing – there simply has to be enough room
for the actors to function. Everyone acknowledges the necessity but no hard and
fast decisions are made. Design of the set will proceed with every intention of
giving the actors “room,” but the proof will come – for the director and the
choreographer – only when the actors are actually on the dressed stage, which
means there’s still a rather large element called the “unknown” that,
regardless of how specific the planning is, will only be revealed once animate
bodies have to interact with inanimate objects.
Long's design for the apartment in "La Cage"
The questions keep coming – what about the table in the café
scene – how will it be set to accommodate six actors? How will the chairs be
gotten into position? And what about the “back-stage” scenes? How will the
“back-stage” be established? Possibly done with a light change against a black
scrim. Then it’s on to the positioning of the stairs, a major topic in the
first production meeting. Thelen acknowledges that their positioning will
basically be the choreographer’s call (Underwood is not at the meeting) because
they will just be used for the Les Cagelles scenes.
“At what point will they be used?” Long asks.
Thelen gives a little sigh. “We really won’t know until we
get into rehearsal,” he says.
Thelen and Long have taken their discussion about the sets
as far as it can go at this point. The rest of those in attendance have been
relatively silent, offering a quick comment now and then but willing to allow
the meeting to be dominated by Thelen and Long. One might wonder why, in fact,
they were all invited, but that question would show a misunderstanding of how a
show like this – with all of its disparate elements – is brought together. Yes,
the others sitting at the table have been silent, but they have been taking it
all in, and many of Thelen’s comments reverberate in their own areas of
responsibility, for in questioning Long he has, without being dictatorial or
didactic, revealed quite a bit about how he “sees” the show, and that “seeing”
will hopefully be translated by all present, from sound technician and
carpenter to costume designer and prop mistress. They don’t need to actively
participate in much of the current discussions, but they do need to know the
“drive” behind a lot of the decisions.
Long's design for the "Christianized"
version of the apartment
Planning the production has come a long way from initial
casting calls, but nothing is yet set in stone. Olds is asked about the
costumes – she also has designs, which she has on her I-phone. She’s made some
initial decisions, but she won’t finalize anything until she knows what the
general style of the stage lighting will be. Costumes, also, will eventually
become a dark cloud hanging over the production.
Contingencies hinging on contingencies, which is to be
expected at this stage: many of the actors will be miked, which will require
that Olds know the size of the battery pack that the actors will have to wear
so she can conceal it in the costumes.
What about the furniture for the apartment? “Can we make the
furniture over-the-top?” Thelen asks Price. There’ll be a need for a chaise
stage left and some chairs and a table stage right. When they’re replaced in
the re-decoration, can they be bigger than life – maybe a pew to replace the
chaise?
And the costumes. Olds asks how “pink” the apartment will
be, for its “pinkishness” will dictate some of her costume decisions,
especially those she designs for Albin in his “Zaza” mode. You can’t have pink
clashing…or blending with…pink!
Thelen turns to Long: “You feel okay with where we are?”
“Yeah,” Long answers, even though “where we are” is still
somewhat up in the air – but the meeting has apparently gotten them all closer
to where that “are” is.
Back to costumes. Olds explains that there will be no “time
signatures” with the costumes. Albin will be going elegant – French couture –
while the Cagelles’ costumes will each reflect an iconic personality – there
will be a “Beverly Sills” and a “Betty Paige” and a “Lolita.”
“It’s not your mother’s ‘La Cage’,” she says
Her comments bring up a question from Thelen. In the finale,
the costume Georges wears to the café has to be changed, but the actor has
absolutely no time to make the change, yet what he will wear for the final
number must be “finale-worthy.” Olds nods and explains how she plans to pull
that off, then adds a bit about her plans for the Cagelles and their costume
changes: the costumes for the “Can-Can” number will be traditional, while for
the “Birds” sequence the costumes will emphasize lyric ballet, and for the
finale, well, they will be a little over-the-top, very Rio.
Now that the meeting has opened up and everyone has a voice,
questions are aired with the rapidity of corn kernels exploding in a popper.
The meal prepared in the apartment – the food has to be overcooked, burnt –
perhaps a “fogger” can be used to generate the smoke effect. And props – where
are feathered fans to be found? Sound cues…are there any? Thelen says he
doesn’t think so. Nazro smiles – she’s heard that before and doesn’t believe
him. And what about the mikes? Are there enough? Thelen suggests they can be
swapped-out, which means that when an actor comes off stage his mike system is
given to another actor. Olds and Nazro shudder, envisioning the chaos of
removing and replacing the mike systems given the complexity of the costumes.
Nazro responds in Bartleby fashion: “I’d rather not.”
Maybe more mikes should be rented? Which actors will need
mikes? Thelen counts them out – If there’s to be no swapping, then they’re
short, but wait, they’ve rented additional mikes for Ivoryton’s July
production, “All Shook Up.” What if those mikes are kept over? Problem solved.
But what about the number of people dedicated to assisting in costume changes
back-stage…and the person dedicated to just the wigs? Well, that’s what interns
are for, but interns…well…things can happen.
Olds chuckles. “I’m working very hard at making the costumes
‘intern-proof.’”
Suddenly there’s nothing left to say. Things have been
decided…maybe…and plans have been made…perhaps…but everyone at the meeting
realizes, and accepts, that there will be changes and surprises. To work in
this environment, and to be successful in it, you have to be adaptable,
understanding that nothing is set in stone until the curtain goes up for the
first time and, even then, change is inevitable, for it is only in previews,
when an audience is asked to respond, and that response is measured, that the
entire team will know whether or not their decisions have been correct.
The group leaves the room knowing that there’s still a lot
of work to be done…and soon that work will become complicated by another human
element, for in less than a month the show goes into rehearsals, and that’s
when the actors arrive on the scene. Who knows what baggage they will bring to
the party.
…And Then
Tuesday, July 8, and following.
The actor who was cast to play Georges calls Underwood and
tells him that he has sustained an injury, or rather, problems from an old injury have cropped up again. The actor suggests that complicated choreography might
be physically beyond him until the injury heals. Underwood calls Thelen, who
calls Hubbard. The problem is now on her desk, where most problems eventually
end up.
In an e-mail, Thelen explained the complications: “Georges
and Albin have a whole dance number in ‘With You on My Arm,’ as well as other
‘staged’ musical moments in the show.” He added that the choreography wasn’t
the only consideration. He explained: “The dressing rooms at Ivoryton are below
the stage and every entrance would require him to climb stairs before and descend
after each scene. There are also stairs on the set he would have to navigate.”
Stairs leading up from the dressing
rooms to the stage at Ivoryton
It’s Hubbard’s call, and she makes it. That’s why head shots
are never thrown away. She calls the actor who had been cast – a difficult
conversation – and then calls the actor who had been considered for the role.
Fortunately, he is available. Thelen is not ecstatic, but he is philosophical.
He wanted one actor and he is now getting another – not his first choice, as
the actor who will take on the role well knows. Thelen, in thinking about the
production, had envisioned his first choice for Georges and started to make
creative decisions based on that envisioning. Those have to be scrapped, for
the new actor brings a new dynamic to the show – perhaps better, perhaps not.
That remains to be seen. However, it is just one more “provisional” element as
the show moves inevitably towards a first rehearsal.
The decision was made for the good of the show. The thinking
was, what if the injury flared up again during rehearsal, or previews, or
during the run? What happens to the show then? As Thelen put it in his email:
“What the show might have been with the original actor we’ll never know – but
we feel a bit more confident that the actor we now have in place will be able
to get us to the end of the run. Of course, this new actor – God forbid – could
fall down a flight of stairs and that would be the end of all of us! But we’re
hoping that doesn’t happen.” It won’t, but other complications will arise.
And so it goes…as the production inches forward.
The First Rehearsal
Tuesday, July 22
Directors approach the first day of rehearsal in different
ways based on the total time available for rehearsals and the nature of what is
being rehearsed. Thelen’s approach for the first day, at least for musicals
(unless it’s an original musical), is not to have what’s called a “table read,”
which basically consists of the cast sitting around a table and reading through
the script. Since “La Cage” is an established show, Thelen assumes that the
cast members have at least a working understanding of what the show is about
and, in general, who their characters are. Thus, as he commented in an e-mail,
he looks to get the show “up on its feet” as soon as possible.
As he explained: “In a musical, because so much of their
characters are dictated by music – tempo, melody, dance – there are fewer large
shifts in interpretation that each actor can make.” There’s another reason why
Thelen eschews a table read: “Since none of the songs have been taught to the
actors yet (and you can’t assume they come in knowing them), a reading becomes
rather fragmented, with actors reading a scene, then the music director or
someone sings a song, then the actors pick up the scene again. It becomes more
comical than helpful…It’s easier just to get to work.”
The Centerbrook Meeting House
The work on the first and subsequent days occurs at the
Centerbrook Meeting House, a converted church about two miles away from the
Ivoryton theater. The first day’s call is for noon, but at 11 a.m. stage
manager Laura Gonzalez, who is seven months pregnant, and assistant stage
manager Michelle Tuite, are in the main room of the Meeting House, sorting
through papers and talking to Nischan.
The room is perhaps three times as long as it is wide and
boasts an array of windows through which the sunlight streams, illuminating,
among other things, the strips of tape that Gonzalez has placed on the floor,
tape that approximates the outlines of the set Long is working on. Long has
provided black and white schematics of the set, which are taped to cabinets
behind where Gonzalez and Tuite sit.
The "footprint" of the set taped out
on the rehearsal hall floor
Soon, Thelen and Underwood arrive and almost immediately
begin talking about transitions from book scenes to musical numbers, that gray
area that requires that director and choreographer work together, for these
transitions are a mix of blocking and dance. Price arrives and begins to unload
the props she has brought to be used during rehearsal: bottles, glasses and
tray, several parasols, a mirror and hair brush that Albin/Zaza will use.
As noon approaches the cast members start to drift in. There
are greetings amongst those who know each other and introductions for
strangers. The atmosphere is congenial and collegial – all of them know that
this is the start of a very intense period in which they will be spending long,
sometimes tedious hours together. No one wants to get off on the wrong foot.
The cast on the first day of rehearsal
Hubbard arrives and is immediately asked three questions by
three different people. Beverly Taylor, Ivoryton’s company manager, approaches
Hubbard and asks “Who’s that actor? I don’t know him; I don’t have housing for
him.” Housing – an eternal problem for Ivoryton. Hubbard isn’t sure who the
actor is and suggests Taylor
ask Underwood – soon all is resolved – the actor had introduced himself using a
nickname.
The next hour is devoted to paperwork – contracts, Equity
Membership Candidate forms, payroll documents. As this is going on, Olds brings
various cast members into the Sanctuary, a room off the main meeting room, for
measurements. When not engaged in filling out forms or being measured, the cast
members cluster in a corner, sitting on chairs or on the floor. The dispersal
seems casual, but a closer look reveals that ensemble members have gravitated
towards each other while those in supporting roles seem to be drawn together.
The show’s two leads, Van Treuren (Georges) and Edwards (Albin) stand alone in
conversation. This fragmentation will diminish over the course of rehearsals
and totally disappear in the tech rehearsal.
Van Treuren and Edwards standing apart from
the rest of the cast on the first day of rehearsal
As the administrative tasks are being taken care of, Thelen,
Underwood and Nischan are standing in front of Long’s schematics for a
discussion about the birdcage, the enclosed structure that will be used once in
the show but that is presenting some difficult staging problems – specifically,
the cage’s size, shape and how it will appear for the scene and then disappear.
Nischan suggests there’s a Plan A, then Plan B, C and D. In other words, two
weeks before the first preview nothing has been resolved. No decisions are
made.
Nischan, Underwood and Thelen
discuss construction of the birdcage
An hour and a half into the first day it’s time to start
dealing with the show. Gonzalez asks for everyone’s attention and Hubbard steps
forward to greet the cast. She welcomes them and hopes that their experience at
Ivoryton will be an enjoyable one. She apologizes for whatever confusion or
inconveniences there have been with regards to housing, then reminds the actors
of Ivoryton’s storied history and that everyone from Marlon Brando to William
Shatner has experienced the same thing they are experiencing. It’s part of the
first-week initiation to theater at Ivoryton.
Hubbard addressing the cast on the first day of rehearsal
“With every production I learn something new,” she tells
them. “So, I’ll say two things. First, if you hurt yourself during rehearsals
or tech or previews, let us know. Don’t keep it a secret. Second, if you are
intimidated or harassed by anyone, let us know, tell us. Don’t let it fester.”
One can only wonder what actual past events have motivated Hubbard to speak to
these points.
Hubbard cedes the floor to Thelen, who steps forward. He is
about to set the tone for the entire process – rehearsals, previews, the run.
His approach, as it was during the casting process, is casual, supportive and
accessible. He knows that what everyone is about to become involved in is a
group process; he is confidently in charge but not a dictator.
Thelen asks the actors to grab chairs and gather around him.
Once the cast is seated he invites each cast member to introduce himself or
herself and announce their roles, then he speaks about the rehearsal schedule,
which he emphasizes is flexible and will be changed based on needs. “It’s a
day-to-day process” he explains. Given that, he tells the cast that by Sunday –
five days away – he hopes to do what he calls a “stumble-through” of the whole
show so the cast can get a feel for how everything might, or could or should
work together. He also notes that two days have been set aside for tech
rehearsals – when the actors, on the actual stage, work through the show as
lighting, sound and set movement are all dealt with. He hopes that only one day
will be needed for the process. It will turn out to be a vain hope.
Thelen shifts gears and begins to speak about the “soul” of
the production. “The set determines a lot of what we will do,” he tells them, then
acknowledges that the size of Ivoryton’s stage makes staging “La Cage” a bit of
a challenge. He turns to Long’s set designs taped to the cabinet doors and
outlines the space the actors will have to work with.
“The whole set is on stage for the entire show,” he tells
them. “It’s all about how we’ll use the set.” He then reiterates the approach
he spoke about when he was interviewed in his home: he wants to put on “the
best production of La Cage with this cast in this theater at this time.” His
focus will be on Georges and Albin and their 20-year relationship, and he
charges the cast to do “everything you can to add to that story.”
As for the feel of the show, well, he wants realism, but he
also acknowledges that in Georges and Albin “we have characters larger-than-life,”
so the show has, inherently, a certain heightened nature. He then addresses the
eight actors who will play the Cagelles, the showgirls. He emphasizes that,
unlike the take on the club in the Broadway revival of the show, this “La Cage”
will not be set in a “dive,” a down-at-the-heels cabaret. Thus, the “showgirls”
have to have “class,” and they can’t just be eight “bitchy queens” (laughter),
he wants these eight actors to be individual characters, but “you have to create these characters, make
your little moments exciting. We want to know who the Cagelles are.”
Thelen cedes the floor to Morris, who tells the cast that
they will be using the revival orchestrations, which means the “orchestra” is
reduced down to eight musicians, “which gives it a much more intimate sound.”
He will begin by working on the ensemble numbers, teaching all of the
harmonies, and he will teach them to the entire ensemble. “For a number, if you
are in the wings, sing along. It will add to the sound, to the choruses.”
At this point Thelen interrupts. “The obvious question will
be. ‘Am I on stage for this number?’ Well, I have no idea; we’re still working
that out.”
There’s not much more to say. What Thelen envisions and what
will actually come about will be the result of his, Underwood’s and Morris’s interaction
with the cast and the actors’ responses to that interaction, plus imponderables.
The end result will be the sum of many factors: talent, dedication, direction,
hard work…and the “gestalt” of the group as it slowly becomes what is called a
“cast.” No matter how “cast” is defined in a dictionary, each cast for each
show is unique, creating its own dynamic that will either enhance or detract
from a production…and then there are the theater gods to deal with, those fickle
deities who seem to take great delight in tossing down unexpected thunderbolts.
During a short break, Thelen, Underwood, Hubbard and Nischan
once again gather in front of Long’s schematics taped to the cabinet doors, and
the topic is, once again, the cage in which the Cagelles will dance. What will
be its size, its shape? How will it be “delivered” and how and where will it be
stored when it’s not needed? Again, suggestions are offered, but all of them
present complications. At this point there doesn’t seem to be an answer, so Thelen
suggests that they all take a day to think about the problem and, perhaps, with
the sun’s rising there will be a solution. Hubbard, who has other things to
worry about, waves her hand. “Well, have fun,” she says, and departs, confident
that the team will come up with a solution.
It is now time to start the actual rehearsal process. Most
of the cast stays upstairs with Morris to work on the show’s anthem, “The Best
of Times,” while Thelen and the two leads go downstairs to a smaller meeting
room. Once there, settled at a table, Thelen speaks to the obvious: “I’m not
going through the nuts and bolts of your roles,” he tells Van Treuren and
Edwards. “You’ve both done this before.” In fact, the actors have performed
their respective roles three times before.
Van Treuren (L) and Edwards (R) discuss their roles with Thelen
“So, in a way,” Thelen continues, “this is your fourth set
of rehearsals.” He pauses and measures his two leads, then says, “I’m not here
to change what you know about your characters but I don’t want you to hold on
to past productions.” Both actors nod in response.
“There’s enough different in this version,” Van Treuren
says.
Riffling the script, Edwards says, “Yes, but there are
moments when you just go…” He shakes his shoulders. What he’s referring to are
those moments when you come to changes in a script you had been familiar
with…your eyes are telling you to say one thing but your mind – the file that
has been titled “La Cage” – is urging you to say something else, because that’s
what you’ve always said at this point in the show.
“Let’s just stay with what we’ve got,” Van Treuren says.
The conversation turns to cuts in the script, the first
being a reference to Georges and Albin’s respective ages, a piece of dialogue
that has been edited multiple times based on the actors playing the roles and
their age disparities, much as Willy Loman’s comment in “Death of a Salesman”
will change from “I’m too fat” to “I’m too short” depending on who is cast in
the role. The subject of age stirs Edwards, who has possibly been dwelling on
Thelen’s opening remarks about the multiple times both actors have played their
roles, to comment: “When I first did it…I was too young…What? Thirty-five? I
didn’t understand…What the hell was I talking about?” It’s an unstated answer
to Thelen’s unstated question: Yes, his Albin will be different than the Albins
he has played before. It will be this
show’s Albin.
Other cuts are discussed – the dialogue leading to the
finale, for example, will be made tighter – then Edwards expresses a concern.
“There’s so much in here,” he says, again referring to the script, “that has to
do with costume changes. It’s hard to do if it’s not rigged properly.” His
comment will turn out to be more germane than he realizes.
Thelen nods, acknowledging the problem, but shifts the focus
to his primary concern, which is the chemistry between the two actors’
characters. “There’s a wonderful quality to Albin and Georges’ relationship
when they are off-stage.” His comment leads to an extended discussion of
previous productions of the show and the nature of that relationship.
Meanwhile, upstairs, the rest of the cast continues to work through “The Best
of Times.”
Pieces of the puzzle, pieces whose fit will not become
apparent until later in the rehearsal process (perhaps not until the first preview),
pieces of songs, pieces of blocking, pieces of dance steps that will,
eventually, become production numbers, pieces in the heads of the director and
the choreographer and the musical director – this piece goes here, this piece
goes there, this piece fits with this piece. No, this doesn’t work; we have to
change it. What if…Why don’t we…How about…Can we…Maybe we should…? There is a
constant stream of questions that leads to answers, answers that are not
definitive, merely speculative.
Morris coaches the cast through “The Best of Times” measure
by measure, first the altos, then the baritones, then the tenors. It’s all a
bit ragged, but there’s a sense of what the number will become when it’s
finally staged, its power – how it will move the audience. Quite a few of the
cast members are holding their I-phones, recording the song so they can run
through it again…and again…when they are not in formal rehearsal. Morris asks
for the females alone to sing…their voices rise on “Now – Now – Now” – the
final note…missed by one of the singers… elicits an “Oh, shit” from her. It
will take some work.
Morris, at the piano, coaches the cast through "The Best of Times"
Morris now turns to the males – he’s at a passage in the
number in which several of the male singers need to drop there voices. He asks
for volunteers. Two arms shoot up.
“I’ll go down…I’ll go down.” The cast laughs. It’s one of
many moments during the rehearsal punctuated by laughter, for Thelen, Underwood
and Morris are all working hard to create an atmosphere that allows for the
funny comments, the ironic asides, the faux pas moments that do not embarrass,
the errors that are gently corrected, the momentary confusions that are allowed
for. The word “no” is simply not used. No one is told that he or she is not
“doing it right.” Rather, suggestions are made that will “make it better,” and
these suggestions, whether offered by Morris, Thelen or Underwood, are often
delivered in a self-effacing manner, as if the joke (or the error) is on them.
As the cast continues to work on the number it becomes
obvious that there will be several “live wires” who will, because of their
personalities, add a certain zest to the rehearsals and, most likely, to the
production itself. Chief among them is Phil Young, who will play Jacob, Georges
and Albin’s rather eccentric butler (Jacob prefers “maid”). As the cast works
through “The Best of Times,” Young is in constant motion, swaying in his chair,
emanating energy, his shoulders jerking, head bobbing, just grooving to the
music, index finger occasionally shooting up into the air to punctuate a note.
Underwood sizing up the space
he will have to work with
As the cast does a complete run-through of the number,
Underwood is pacing behind them, eyes glued to the floor, measuring distances
between tape marks, estimating how much space he has to work with. A break is
called and one of the Cagelles, John Paul LePorte, watches what Underwood is
doing.
“That’s the choreographer putting together the numbers,” he
says. One might misconstrue what LePorte means by “the numbers.” The dance
numbers? Not exactly. “It’s all about the numbers,” LePorte explains. “We’re
mathematicians on the floor. Yup, that’s what we are. Mathematicians. We move
to the numbers.”
Fifth Day of
Rehearsal
Saturday, July. 26
Pieces being fit into pieces.
Five days into rehearsal, eight days from the first tech
rehearsal and ten days from the first preview, Thelen works on individual
scenes, the first being the scene that follows the opening number.
Theren sets the moment: the musical number ends and all of
the Cagelles are still on stage in a final pose. It is here that Thelen’s
philosophy about blackouts comes into play. He tells his actors that the
lighting changes, the band lights go out, the proscenium lights are doused
and…the scene is now immediately backstage, which requires the Cagelles to start
bitching and griping, and Thelen wants it to happen immediately – no blackout,
no musical transition. Whether this will work, or serve to create momentary
audience confusion, remains to be seen.
He tells the cast what he is looking for and then allows the
actors to improvise…noise, complaints, movement. In essence, he wants to see
what they will do on their own and then add, modify or enhance their instincts.
After giving basic blocking suggestions he says, “Let’s try it and see what
happens.” What follows is modified chaos with little jabber and ill-defined
movement. It doesn’t bother Thelen. He comments on things that he likes, makes
additional suggestions, moves people around and then emphasizes that this is
the scene where the Cagelles will establish their individual personalities. He
doesn’t suggest what those personalities should be, just that the actors must
find them.
The Cagelles rehearse the backstage scene
The scene is run through again, and then again. Thelen asks
for more vocalization at the start of the scene, more bitching, more griping.
The cast responds. At one point, Thelen approves of what Francis (Conor Hamill),
the Cage’s stage manager, has been
doing, but asks for a more fevered, frenzied reaction. He then does five
seconds of fevered, frenzied reaction as an example. He stops, then somewhat
tongue-in-cheek says, “If you could just imitate what I just did that would be
great.” He’s not serious, but he is. It’s multi-layered direction, a command
hidden behind a suggestion masked by a bit of “theater.” Though he may not be
an actor, and does not claim to be one, Thelen emanates an eagerness to take on
each role, major or minor, and this eagerness is transmitted to the cast, and
the actors respond with “What if…?” and “Could we…?”
“Remember the details,” Thelen urges his actors after a
final run-through of the scene. “Next time we can add more layers,” and he
moves on to staging the second scene, which occurs right after Georges and
Albin’s “Song in the Sand” number. Again, he begins with blocking – who crosses
from where, entrances, exits. At this point he’s moving actors around as if
they are chess pieces – he wants to see what it looks like. Once it’s set,
he’ll allow a little latitude, a little freedom. The mood of the rehearsal, and
Thelen’s manner of directing, is captured with: “Let’s see what kind of mess
I’ve created and then we can clean it up.”
There are smiles and nods from the cast. Some might call
this the “Aw, shucks,” approach to directing, but there’s no doubt who is
charge of this process and what he is looking for. The fact that there is no
yelling, no dictatorial commands, no denigrations, merely enhances the
“learning” process, for learning is what is occurring, and if the process does
not allow for mistakes then rehearsals become more like interrogations and the
rehearsal hall a jail or concentration camp that the inmates are loathe to
enter.
The end of the scene has Francis announcing to the cast that
a collection will be taken up for a wedding gift for Jean-Michel. The Cagelles
voice suggestions about what they can contribute. One offers to make
ratatouille – another Cagelle casts aspersions on the idea – which leads to
Thelen blocking a quick moment in which one, then two, then four Cagelles sing
“Ratatouille” to the music of “La Cucaracha.” It’s a bit of choreography,
normally Underwood’s province, but the lines of authority are fluid here and as
both Thelen and Underwood acknowledge, those lines can’t be etched in stone,
not if the whole that will eventually be created will be greater than the sum
of its parts.
Patrick Heffernen, Jay Garrick, Lincoln Ward and
Dyllan Vallier rehearse the "ratatouille" scene
During the process, actors feel free to make suggestions
about movements or motivations for movements. Thelen listens and then, often,
agrees. One actor, Cameron Benda, playing the dominatrix Hanna from Hamburg, speaks a line
to Francis and then places a whip around his neck. Thelen likes it, and then
adds to it. “Why don’t you lead him off, like he’s on a leash?” The moment
works.
Two scenes have been blocked and run though. Neither is
perfect but there’s a base and refinements can be made. The third scene Thelen
wants to work on occurs right before the “I Am What I Am” number that closes
the first act. The cast members involved gather in the center of the rehearsal
hall, but Thelen and Underwood conference. Underwood gestures, Thelen points
here and there, Underwood waves his hands. Their body language does not speak
to antagonism, rather to attempts to understand what each man is saying. The
two have been on the same page throughout all of the rehearsal process so far,
but now there’s a difference of opinion about how a scene should be staged, how
it will play. Rather than put the cast through its paces only to change the
entire scene at a later rehearsal, the two men agree to cancel work on the
third scene until they can figure out what will serve the show best.
Given the time remaining, Thelen has the cast members run
through the second scene that he staged, then the first. The clock dictates
that there should be a break, something that Gonzalez keeps an eagle eye on.
Thelen thanks the actors for their work and then says, “Please go though what
we’ve just done just like you would your dance numbers…or at least look at it
every once in awhile.”
His comment speaks to the unique nature of staging a
musical, which requires men and women who can dance, who can sing and who can
act. “La Cage Aux Folles” is not a review, a supper club act, it’s a musical,
it’s a play, it’s a story, and Thelen wants to tell that story, and to do so he
needs his dancers to act, he needs his singers to dance, and he needs his
actors…well…to sing and dance…and there are different levels of talent out
there on the rehearsal floor. It is most apparent with the dancers – some work
though their routines focused on where they place their feet, how they move
their bodies, in essence, wrapped up in the dance, in the moment, and some are
still tentative, their feet moving but their eyes seeking out Underwood’s,
searching to see if he has seen they have made a mistake or, simply, don’t know
what they are doing at the moment, where they are supposed to be. At this
point, those unsure of the choreography are also keying off their fellow
dancers, which means they are just a beat or two behind, always in “catch-up”
mode.
Some of the indecisiveness is due to the fact that four of
the cast members are working in Ivoryton’s current production of “All Shook
Up,” which means that they have to leave rehearsals early or are simply not
available. It presents one of many scheduling problems, but there are reasons
for the double casting, some of which apply to all regional theaters and others
that are unique to Ivoryton. As Hubbard outlined them in an email, “a longer
contract is good for nonunion actors. They get EMC (Equity Membership
Candidate) points towards admission to the union for every week they work. We
can attract better non-union performers with a longer contract and perhaps an
Equity card when it is done.”
But the reasons don’t stop there, they extend to the nature
of the business, for as Hubbard pointed out, “we often cast actors in the
spring and then lose them before the show opens to [productions on] cruise
ships or bigger theaters. A longer contract lessens that possibility.” Finally,
there’s the situation that’s not totally unique to Ivoryton but that bedevils
Hubbard, and that is housing. As she explained, “during the overlap week I
struggle to find housing for all of the actors. If four of them are in both
shows then that’s four less beds I have to find that week. It may not seem like
much, but in my world it is a major motivating factor.” The mundane weighed
against the magic -- let’s create a world of sparkle and glitter, but where
will those who give off the light sleep at night?
Whatever the limitations and the challenges, Underwood works
through them, building dance numbers step by step, patiently making minor
adjustments – placement or arc of an arm, movement of a fan. He calls for
another run-through of what he has just taught his dancers, snapping his
fingers and humming the music they will eventually hear. It is, as LePorte
commented, a matter, at least at this point in the rehearsal process, of
numbers, for the dancers are moving to music that is not being played, music
that they can only imagine in their heads. It is, obviously, a challenge, but
if they can eventually execute the steps without music how much better will
their performances be once they can actually hear the band, once their bodies
will be able to respond to actual beat, tempo and rhythm…when there will
finally be music to dance to?
A half-hour into Underwood’s part of the rehearsal he
finally sets up a playback system and lets his dancers hear the music they will
be dancing to. It’s the finale, and before there’s a run-through Underwood
works out, as best he can, the movement of white-feathered fans the dancers
will use to reveal the new Cagelles, i.e., the Dindon family in drag as they
attempt to escape the paparazzi. The dancers play with their fans, then attempt
to mimic what Underwood has shown them.
The Cagelles get their fans
“Don’t worry, there’ll be a fan class,” Underwood tells
them. A “fan class?” Yes, time will be set aside during rehearsals to train the
dancers on how to open, flourish and close their fans. It is all in
the…multitudinous…details.
Up until now, almost all of the dance rehearsals have involved
the ensemble members, primarily the Cagelles, but the leads are involved in
many of the numbers and it is now time to insert them into the choreography.
The finale calls for Georges, La Cage’s emcee, to dance with the Cagelles. The
first reveal with the fans will introduce him into the number. Underwood has
the Cagelles work through the number to the point where Georges appears – it’s
a bit rough but Underwood calls out, “Looks like it’s going to work.” Then
there’s another run-through, this time with Van Treuren involved – he takes up
space that hasn’t been taken up before, in essence, an unknown quantity. The
Cagelles work to accommodate this new presence – the result is tentative.
Another run-through, and then another, and it starts to come together…not
perfect, but there’s the outline of what will finally appear on stage.
Underwood brings it all to a halt after a final run-through.
“Okay,” he says, “this is all clear as mud, right? Or maybe clear as dirty
water?” There’s nothing in his voice that suggests it all shouldn’t be as it is
right now. For the cast, all is well, regardless of Underwood’s private
thoughts. It comes down to a matter of trust – the cast must trust that
Underwood knows what he is doing and knows where he is going, and Underwood
must trust that what he has just seen will, over time – very limited time – be
refined, will actually all come together, that the dirt will settle and the
water will become crystal clear.
The Stumble-Through
– First run-through of Act One
Tuesday, July 29
There comes a time when you have to see if the pieces you’ve
been carving out actually fit in some kind of order. The cast is now one week
into rehearsal, and some might suggest that they aren’t ready yet for a
run-through of an entire act, but the first preview is only eight days away.
There’s not much choice. At least the question of how to handle the “cage” on
stage has been resolved. Nischan has come up with the idea of treating it like
a giant beach umbrella: when it is needed it will unfold and rise, when no
longer needed it will collapse and be carted off. “It’s such a simple
solution,” Thelen says, “and it solves the problem of space, of storage, where
to put it when not needed.”
Zach Trimmer and James Van Treuren
rehearse the "Anne on My Arm" number
It’s 10 a.m. and Gonzalez calls, “We’re here.” Those cast
members involved in the morning rehearsals are now on the clock. The first
number Thelen runs through, which calls for a mix of choreography and blocking,
is the “Anne On My Arm” number, when Jean-Michel (Zach Trimmer) announces to
Georges that he is in love and wants to marry, the plot point that will
initiate much of what happens for the rest of the show. Van Treuren and Trimmer
run through the scene as some of the dancers wander in. Underwood and Thelen
make suggestions as the dancers, in the corner, put band aids on their toes
(most have been rehearsing in heels) and begin stretching, limbering up.
Dyllan Vallier stretching before rehearsal
Thelen and Underwood pause to discuss a transition as Young,
the butler/maid, glides around the rehearsal hall, possibly practicing some
steps, possibly just working off energy and getting ready for his scene. As he
moves, the skirt he is wearing is in constant motion – it flutters, it swirls,
it twirls.
Phil Young seeking his "inner Jacob" before rehearsal
At 10:30 it’s time to merge Edwards with the Cagelles in the
“La Cage Aux Folles” number. Underwood runs through the number with Edwards as
most of the cast chats in the corner, mostly about make-up – base, foundation,
white cover-up. “Can we keep it down to a dull roar,” Gonzalez calls out.
Immediately voices drop.
With Morris at the piano, Underwood coaches Edwards and four
of the Cagelles – Patrick Heffernan, Lincoln Ward, Dyllan Vallier and Xavier
Reyes – moving Edwards through the routine that the dancers have already
rehearsed. Some of the dancers seem more comfortable than others, and Edwards,
perhaps remembering past choreography of this number, is tentative. Then
there’s a run-through of the second part of the number, followed by a Can Can
sequence with all eight Cagelles now on the floor. The cast runs through the
number three, four, five times, all while Thelen sits behind a table and
silently watches the proceedings.
Edwards, second from left, rehearsing with the
Cagelles: Heffernen, Ward and Xavier Reyes.
He can see that the Cagelles are still at different comfort
levels with the choreography; he can also hear that some of them are selling
the song while others seem to be holding back vocally. In just over a week they
will be performing before an audience. It has to be a concern for him, but he’s
experienced and realistic.
“You have to learn to back off,” he said as the Cagelles and
Edwards begin another run-through. “You’re throwing a lot at them, too much in
too short a time. It’s best to let them go home and sleep on it, then start
over, begin again tomorrow.”
Time is running out. Thelen wants to begin a “stumble
though” of the first act at noon, but there’s still another number to deal
with, the “Mascara” number, which involves Edwards sitting at his dressing
table and transforming his character, Albin, into the exotic Zaza. As props and
the dressing table are arranged, Edwards wanders by the director’s table,
smiles, and says, “Have you ever been in a room with so many men in high
heels?” He shrugs, then walks to the dressing table and takes his place. As he
performs the number, first alone and then joined by the Cagelles, the
confidence level of the dancers seems to rise. The number seems to be further
along than the ones already rehearsed; the dancers seem a bit more sure of
themselves. Although Edwards has some questions about timing – how much time to
put on the make-up, to don his costume – his performance seems to send a
message to the rest of the cast, a message that will be doubled and then
tripled before the end of the stumble-through.
Edwards rehearsing "Mascara"
Throughout the process, Underwoood makes comments and gentle
suggestions to the dancers. They listen and then respond with “Thank you.” It’s
as if there’s an unwritten code dealing with how corrections are made and how
corrections are received, a decorum that
seems both outdated and yet appropriate, for egos are involved in both the
giving and receiving of corrections, the atmosphere, although not tense, is
influenced by the ticking of the clock and the striking off of days on the
calendar. If someone – either in the cast or on the artistic staff – were to
“cop an attitude,” this fragile yet functional “womb” that Thelen, Underwood
and Morris have created to allow the musical to gestate would be torn apart and
the child growing in it would be born deformed.
The time approaches for the run-through. Underwood pauses at
the director’s table. “I’m pleased with where we are right now,” he says.
“We’ll go through the run-through to see where the holes are. The cast, well,
they’re supportive, open, willing to try different things.” Then he shrugs.
“I’ll be happier by the end of the week.” He turns and glances over at his
dancers. “Some are strong dancers, some are strong singers, some are strong
actors, but as a group there’s a great amalgamation of talent.”
Thelen calls the cast together and readies them for the
run-through. He echoes Underwood – “We know there are holes. When you get to
one of those holes just follow your own path, your own instincts. When we’re
done we’ll try and fix the problems. There’s not a lot of time to say, ‘Can we
rethink this?’ We can’t. We don’t have the luxury.”
It’s noon. Gonzalez calls out, “Clear the stage.” Van Treuren
surreptitiously blesses himself as the cast divides, some going to what is now
stage left, others going stage right. A subtle electricity pulses through the
room. No, there’s no audience, there’s no orchestra, there are no lights and
costumes, there’s no make-up, but for the first time those assembled are about
to perform as a cast, about to see what they have accomplished individually and
collectively over the past week – how far they have come and how far they still
have to go.
Morris plays the introduction and then…”We Are What We Are”
– the number that opens the show. Over the next hour the cast works to tell a
story, to entertain. Some scenes just fizzle out – a hole has been reached.
There’s confusion. Other scenes seem to flow, to work. As Underwood and Thelen
take notes, the cast soldiers through scene after scene, pausing only for prop
changes or an occasional “hold” called by Thelen, Underwood or Morris when
something is going obviously off-track.
Lines are dropped, lyrics are jumbled. The actors, most of
whom are now off-book, frequently call out to Gonzalez – “Line!” She cues them
and the run-through goes forward. Jean-Michel announces that he’s going to
marry Anne – Georges is faced with telling Albin that Albin must, in essence,
disappear when Anne’s parents arrive – Georges and Albin dance, Underwood
coaching them through the steps. Anne and Jean-Michel exit quickly from a scene
and run into a metal costume bar.
Eventually, the run-through reaches the finale of the first
act. There’s no telling what each of the cast members is thinking, but there has
to be concern – it’s still so ragged, still so unformed, still so tentative…and
then something happens, something that Hubbard and Thelen and Underwood thought
might happen when Edwards auditioned for the role back in April.
Edward’s character, Albin, has just been told that he must
excuse himself for the evening so that Anne’s parents will not be shocked by
the lifestyle in which Jean Michel has been raised. Distraught and hurt, Albin
still has a number to perform. He joins the Cagelles on stage as they begin to
sing “We Are What We Are,” but he can’t go through with the number. He tells
the Cagelles to leave – he will perform the number alone – and then proceeds to
sing “I Am What I Am.”
Edwards rehearsing "I Am What I Am"
There is no tentativeness, no confusion. As the cast,
totally quiet, totally focused on Edwards’ performance, sits in the corners of
the rehearsal hall, Edwards’ character, via song, emanates the pain of
rejection while at the same time demands to be accepted for who he is. It’s a
complete, totally moving performance, and when it is over there is silence,
followed by applause.
Whatever doubts the cast might have had about what they have
been doing, what they have been creating, have, at least for the moment, been dispelled.
Edwards’ performance has told them in no uncertain terms that, “We have a show.
We have something to say to an audience.”
The run-through is over. There’s a break while Thelen,
Underwood and Morris discuss the lead-in to Edwards’ finale. It’s about
motivation and mood. Thelen suggests that the Cagelles intro – the start of “We
Are What We Are” -- should be more up-tempo, more fun, so that the Cagelles
frivolity, gaiety, grates so on Albin, is so contrary to his current mood, that
it provides the motivation for him to kill the number and do what he does.
Morris plays the intro, speeding up the tempo. Thelen nods,
then asks, “Can it be faster?”
He turns to Underwood. “Can the Cagelles be moving, not just
standing there?” Underwood thinks, then closes his eyes and begins moving his
hands, envisioning the movement Thelen is asking for. “Yes,” he says, twirling
his hands, “they can…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, simply continues to move
his hands. If the three of them can pull this off, accomplish what Thelen
envisions, then Edwards’ performance will be even more powerful, more moving,
will send the audience out into the night to get a breath of fresh air eager to
get back into the theater, wanting to see what happens, wanting to see how the
story ends.
After the break, Thelen calls the cast together and asks
them to take chairs. It’s time for notes, but before they are handed out,
Thelen has some comments.
“We need to clean up a lot of things,” he says, “but I think
the storytelling works quite well. However, there’s a lot of ‘thinking’ going
on on-stage; we need to get past that.” What he is referring to is the
tentativeness, the eyes of the cast looking out at the creative staff for
approval. The cast has yet to take on the show as its own – that won’t happen
for a while, may not happen until the second week of the run, but Thelen needs
to address the self-consciousness that is evident.
He addresses the Cagelles – when the close of the opening
number was first rehearsed he asked for immediate groaning and griping from the
Cagelles, asked the actors to individually project their characters. It didn’t
happen in the ‘stumble-through,’ so: “You need to be more vocal, and you need
to do it immediately.”
Thelen cedes the floor to Morris, who notes that some cuts
have been made in the score. Then he emphasizes the importance of the actors
not on-stage during chorus numbers to sing along, to add to the total effect.
To do that they have to be taught the numbers, which he says he will do over
the coming days.
Thelen interjects: “Back-stage singing does make a difference.”
Then it’s Underwood’s turn to address the cast. He hands out
notes, talks a bit about timing, especially in the “Mascara” number, then
reiterates that there’s a lot to do, but he doesn’t leave it there.
“Yes,” he says, “we’ve got some things to do,
but…congratulations, congratulations, congratulations.”
Smiles appear on tired faces. No, the show is not perfect,
it’s far from perfect…yet…it’s come a long way and, yes, congratulations are in
order.
The Tenth Rehearsal –
Reversals…and Life
Friday, Aug. 1 –One
week from opening night
Nothing is etched in stone, nothing ever goes truly as
planned, and nothing can stop the real world from impinging on the “world”
actors create up on the stage.
The rehearsal schedule for Friday, Aug. 1, calls for Edwards
and Van Treuren to show at 10 a.m. to work with Underwood on the reprise of the
“You On My Arm” scene, a dance number that has Georges cajoling Albin out of
his funk about Jean-Michel’s announcement that he intends to marry. Perhaps the
timing is prophetic, for Edwards has other, greater concerns to ponder – before
arriving at the rehearsal hall he was informed that his 88-year-old father had
passed away. It was not a shock – the man had been suffering from Parkinson’s, was
in a hospice in Virginia,
and the end was long expected, but…
“I’m not sad, in a way,” Edwards said. “There’s just an
empty feeling…a hole…and I don’t know what to do with that.”
Edwards won’t be leaving the show, won’t be missing any
rehearsals. His father’s remains will be brought back to New York, where most of his family and
friends lived, and where his wife, who died when Edwards was in his early 20s,
is buried. There will be a memorial ceremony…after the show.
Gonzalez calls “We’re in” and the rehearsal begins. Underwood
guides Edwards and Van Treuren through the sequence, counting out the numbers.
Perhaps Edwards is distracted by the news, perhaps not, but he continues to
miss steps.
“Stop,” Underwood calls out.
“That’s the hard part for me,” Edwards says. “In the old
version (referring to a previous production of “La Cage” he was in), it was
like this.” He does a quick routine. “Now it’s…” He does a faster routine.
Underwood acknowledges the problem – his answer: “Let’s do it again.”
As Edwards and Van Treuren go through the routine, Underwood
is counting out the numbers: “ Ah one, ah two, ah three, ah four…” Now it’s Van
Treuren that has a problem with the steps and the count. “Okay, it’s on a two,”
he says, “never on a one.”
Van Treuren and Edwards work through
a dance routine with Underwood.
Underwood: “No, it’s never on a one.” He gestures to Van
Treuren, intending to show him the next steps in the sequence. “I’m going to do
him now,” he says.
“Oh, you sweet talker,” Edwards says…and it seems the actor
is back into the rehearsal process, problems set aside, his natural wit once again
apparent.
As Underwood continues to work with the two actors to refine
the routine, the problem of what might be called “show memory” becomes more
manifest. It’s not that Edwards and Van Treuren don’t understand what Underwood
is showing them, what he’s asking them to do. Intellectually they get it, but
their legs want to do something else, something those legs have done many times
before. Edwards voices the problem: “We’re still thinking of the old rhythm,
that’s what’s in our heads.”
There are several more run-throughs – now with Morris on the
piano -- each one just a bit better, but it’s still not there yet. After
another run-through Van Treuren asks: “Are we singing at this point?’
Underwood: “Yes, you’re singing.” Edwards: “And patting our stomachs.”
Thelen, who has been watching the entire process, now
suggests: “Wait until the end. He’s going to ask you to juggle three balls.”
One more run-through. Van Treuren: “It’s so simple.”
Edwards: “Not for me.”
There’s now a discussion of some lines that are in the
scene. In the old script, Albin would say he can’t dance and Georges would tell
him that he can. In the revised version the lines have been reversed, and
Edwards suggests that they revert to the former script. “That gets me off the
hook,” he says facetiously, implying that his line will cover whatever mistakes
he makes in the routine.
Thelen considers the request. “I don’t have a problem with
that,” he says, “but when I read through the script and got to that part I
thought – this is better. Zaza is the one who has been on stage – it makes
sense that she’s the one who can dance.”
It’s decided the scene will be played as now written.
“Okay,” Edwards says, turning to Van Treuren, “that gets you off the hook.”
Back to the routine. Underwood adds more steps, then says,
“Why don’t we try to sing and dance at the same time.” The two actors laugh and
give it a whirl, but there’s still a problem. Near the end of the routine Van
Trueren is down-stage from Edwards and he has to make a move to get back up-stage
and then immediately be in sync with Edwards for the close, when the two each
lift one leg and offer air kisses to each other – it just isn’t working; the
timing is off. Of the final pose, Edwards says: “I just hope they don’t applaud
too long…we’ll fall over.”
Van Treuren calls for a brief “water break.” It’s granted,
and Edwards asks, “Does anyone have any gin?” Several minutes later they’re
back at it again, and the problem with Van Treuren joining Edwards up-stage is
still there. Underwood calls another halt and, as he does, Van Treuren goes up
on his right foot and spins. “What if I do a ‘gentle pirouette,’ he says. He
spins again. Underwood considers the move, then nods. “Let’s try it.” It works.
Van Treuren is with Edwards up-stage when he should be, they do their final
steps and they offer air kisses.
Actors have scripts, musicians and singers have scores, but
dancers, or those learning dance routines, have no printed reference to take
home and practice with, but they do practice when they are not in rehearsal.
Underwood suggested that dancers have their own idiosyncratic ways of
“memorizing” what they are supposed to perform.
“I would write it in my script,” he explains. “You know,
here’s where we do the ‘twinkle,’ here’s where we do the ‘sailor.’ Dancers all
have their own shorthand, but it’s less about the steps, it’s how does my body
get to the next ‘thing.’
Referring to the paces he has just put Edwards and Van
Treuren through: “You have to get your body re-acclimated to dancing. There are
several steps to that, and the third step is when they add their own ‘isms’ to
it, they make the routine their own.”
That Van Treuren’s suggestion about the pirouette worked,
that it allowed him to make the transition up-stage with greater facility,
didn’t surprise Underwood. “When you see someone execute something they’re
comfortable with – well, you go with it. It’s a collaboration.”
As Edwards, Van Treuren and Underwood were wrapping up what
they were working on other actors started showing up. One brings another bit of
life from outside the realm of the theater, a bit of reality that she shares:
she had walked into her daughter’s room earlier in the morning only to be
confronted by a masterful example of fecal smearing: on face, clothes, crib…and
anything else little hands could reach. A quick visit to the tub and then a
conversation with the significant other – and then off to rehearsal. And so it
goes. Edwards, listening to the story, says to her: “I just thought you were
wearing a new perfume.”
Webb, Samantha Lane Talmadge, Vidmar and Cori Stolbun
work on an ensemble number they will sing off-stage.
Morris works with the female members of the cast on the
off-stage singing that will add depth to many of the Cagelles’ numbers, then
Thelen begins working on the scene that has the Dindons arriving for their
visit. The scene has already been blocked but nothing is actually set, and as
the rehearsal progresses there’s a lot of standing around and discussion about
movement and motivation. The actors will play perhaps 10 seconds of the scene
and then Thelen will stop them and make a comment – they are not always cogent,
as he himself admits. He makes one suggestion – the actors comply – and
Thelen’s response is “No, I hate that. I
don’t even believe that,” referring to why an actor should make a particular cross.
Thelen makes another suggestion to have Webb, the actress playing Anne, make a
cross – before she even attempts that he has second thoughts: “No, no – I know
– it’s cheesy.”
At 2:30 the Cagelles appear and they are soon integrated
into the scenes. Attention now turns to the chase scene near the end of the
second act. “It’s the whole crazy scene that involves the Cagelles and the
Dindons and just about everyone else,” Morris says, “and nobody knows yet what’s
going on in this scene.”
Most of the actors are now off-book, but some are still
carrying around pages from the script. This adds to the raggedness of the
scenes as actors pause to check their lines. No one comments, but everyone is
aware that these lines have to be down very soon – after all, they are a mere
five days away from the first preview.
Underwood takes the cast through the chase scene, which
requires the Dindons, seeking to escape the den of debauchery that they believe
they have uncovered, being confronted by pairs of Cagelles, including two that
will be at the bottom of the stage stairs. Underwood directs them in an
intricate weave of Cagelles and other cast members that, at first, looks like a
Chinese fire drill. After several run-throughs the scene starts to take shape,
but there’s the possibility that most of this work will be for naught. The reality
of the Ivoryton stage, the steepness and limited depth of the actual stage
stairs and the proximity of the audience may all require a re-thinking of the
scene, but that’s for another day, a day when cast and creative staff can
actually start working on the stage.
The Cagelles rehearse with fans
for a second-act ensemble number
As Thelen watches Underwood put the cast through its paces,
he worries a bit about what he and the cast will find when they actually have
access to the stage. “They (meaning members of the production staff) are so
behind I don’t know if we will be able to do the tech rehearsal on Sunday.”
He’s also concerned about the set designs, designs that have been discussed
since the first production meeting. “What we talked about and what we are
getting are two different things.”
The theater on Friday, Aug. 1
There’s a sense that this is a classic disconnect that, in
the business world, is manifested in the perpetual sales-marketing friction. In
an e-mail, Hubbard offered a different perspective. There has been, from the
onset, a difference of opinion between Thelen and Long with regards to the set.
As Hubbard wrote, “Because of the limitations of our small stage and the lack
of wing space, Cully wanted a more abstract, conceptual design. Larry really
wanted more realism.”
Hubbard pointed out that the cast’s access to the stage was not
totally limited by any delays on the production crew’s part. Morris had
requested a band rehearsal on stage for Friday, which meant that regardless of
the state of the set, the cast would not have access to the stage until
Saturday.
Pragmatically, Hubbard commented: “Bottom line is that this
is the most stressful time in the production process for everyone.” She added
that, “Once we are through with tech everyone will breathe a little easier and
next year they will have completely forgotten that they wanted to kill each
other at this point.”
An Interlude – The
Cagelles
Saturday, August 2 – before rehearsal
The eight actors – Carlos Chang, LePorte, Jay Garrick,
Vallier, Ward, Benda, Reyes and Patrick Heffernan -- playing the Cagelles
gathered before rehearsal to talk about being in the production, beginning with
the casting call back in April.
Most had opinions about that casting call, and casting calls
in general. Ward started the conversation by suggesting that “I’ve always
thought the hardest part is just showing up, because you have so many other
things to do that sometimes it’s easier to just make your day about something
else other than the reason why you’re in the city. You have to remind yourself
why you’re there…I tell myself that every day.”
Other than just committing to the casting call there were
other concerns. As LePorte explained, “Before the ‘La Cage’ audition, I was
actually a little nervous because I had never danced in heels before. I was
worried that I was going to roll one of my ankles.”
There were other reasons for nerves, one of them being how
the casting call had been announced. Chang explained: “That call was a complete
mess-up on Backstage (referring to the casting call listings on the Backstage
web site). They had a totally different call time, so I got there at, ah, ten
to eleven, and the call was actually from nine to eleven, so I was in the last
group, right at the last minute (many who were finally cast were in that last
group). We had to get into our outfits in like ten seconds and get into the
room and I didn’t even know if it was for ‘La Cage’ or ‘All Shook Up,’ so it
was like, ‘What are we doing…Go!’ but actually it was hilarious because we
didn’t have time to think or over-think. It was ‘…five-six-seven-eight go.’”
Whatever anxiety the actors were feeling was lessened by how
Underwood, Thelen, Hubbard and Morris ran the call, supportive rather than
intimidating. As Vallier explained, “I got that immediately. I hadn’t done a
dance call in, like, forever, let alone for a professional company, but as soon
as Todd started teaching us and Jacqui was getting people together I
immediately got a sense of community and family in the company and so I became
a little less nervous, because going in I thought it would be this big scary
thing with the choreographer standing in the corner with his or her nose up,
intimidating, but that wasn’t the case at all.”
Benda took a more philosophical approach to that morning and
casting in general. There’s always an element of doubt about what the company
is looking for, what the production needs. “All of us have a wide range of
audition experience,” he said. “A lot of us have been in those auditions where
it’s been very high stakes, but what I’ve learned is that casting is a crap
shoot and you can never figure out who likes you or who doesn’t like you, why
they cast you or why they didn’t cast your friend. I know there were probably
people in that audition who – well, ‘Oh, for sure, he’s gonna get it or she’s
gonna get it, and I’m screwed,’ and then, for whatever reason, they don’t get
it. It’s kinda a ‘who you know’ kind of business and your reputation stands for
itself. And there’s the, ‘Okay, we already have a tall blond boy, so we need a
short Hispanic.” There’s laughter. There are several short, Hispanic members of
the Cagelles.
The eight Cagelles rehearsing with Van Treuren
Heffernan takes the philosophical approach even further by
turning the tables and suggesting that an audition is a two-way street. “As an
actor,” Heffernan said, “it’s kind of our chance to audition the theater. With
these summer stock theaters, there’s not a ton they can offer us, especially as
far as money goes, so we do have a little bit of selection that we can start to
make. You go to a call and somebody is not treating you very well – yes, we
want the job, we want to perform – but you’re getting a chance to see what it’s
going to be like to work with these people and if that doesn’t speak to you,
it’s not going to give you the experience that you want to have, why put
yourself through that? So, when you have a place that just seems very
welcoming, very inviting, where people are going to work from a creative
standpoint, understand the process and work with you, it makes it very
appealing and attractive to the actor to want to work in a theater like this
one.”
While actors have been memorizing their scripts and singers
and musicians have been going over their scores, the dancers have been working
through their routines (often without musical accompaniment) , but there’s no
written reference for what they are being asked to do, no script they can go
back to. Vallier spoke to this point: “Aside from the muscle memory of each
number…” he said, “I mean, while I’m doing it I don’t necessarily think about
which number I’m trying to get to next, it just kind of happens. What I like
about different choreographers is their lingo, how they’ll go about teaching.
Todd – I’ll remember him as just ‘Boom!’ and that move and that flourish – all
the quirky little vocabulary that they have.” Vallier also appreciates that
Underwood is basically one of them, he has acted in this particular show, he
understands what they are going through, as Vellier put it, “He understands our
world.” That often means understanding very simple things, such as the stress for
men (and women) of rehearsing hours on end in heels. Some choreographers will
demand that male dancers wear the heels throughout the rehearsal day, but
Underwood has told the Cagelles that when they are not on, “you can take your
shoes off.” It sounds like a small thing, but to aching feet, it’s a godsend,
and the dancers appreciate the gesture. “He’s very understanding about our
bodies,” Vallier said.
Rehearsing in heels
Ward explained that there’s more to the process, that it is
much like when an athlete trains for his or her particular sport. “When I’m
laying in bed,” he explained, “I go through everything in my head to commit it
to memory, but what it really comes down to is what we do as a group...we key
off each other. Yesterday, both Jay and I knew what we were supposed to do but
because neither one of us did it, we both didn’t do it.”
Perhaps they are attempting to describe the inexplicable, a
process that simply can’t accurately be put into words. “There’s no way to
explain ‘pick-up,’ though,” Benda commented, referring to how fast or how slow
the particular dancer is taking in the direction “All of us went to programs to
learn how to be a professional. You work on
your ‘pick-up,’ or you don’t work. When you go to auditions, the amount
of time they have to audition a large group of people is very small. So, like
with Todd, to get through all of those people at the call and see what they can
do…if you don’t pick up the steps, don’t give it your own individual flair…” He
shrugged, and the shrug said it all.
So there’s “muscle-memory,” visualization and “pick-up,” but
Reyes suggested there was something else, what one might call the Zen approach
to being a dancer. “It’s all about being present,” he said, “being in tune with
the director. Just focus, be present, try to be on the same plane and in the
same mentality as the director. I can’t talk or do other things in rehearsal, I
need to be with the director or the choreographer and try to understand the
vision, the sense of the number.”
There’s that, and then there’s the more mundane approach. “I
also write things down,” Le Porte said. “When there’s a lot of direction it
helps me, personally. I’ll go home and write down my numbers, track the
pattern, your road map.”
The conversation veered to the show they were rehearsing and
the fact that there just isn’t a lot of time to do what needs to be done.
Vallier commented: “This is my first summer stock job. People talk about it at
school, but I always wondered how do you put up a full-production show in just
two weeks? That’s absurd. Doing shows in school you always had this longer
production period – you had a month or two months. I don’t know what it is
about here, but it just hasn’t been that overwhelming. We learned these huge
production numbers in just a matter of days and now we’re running them and it
makes sense. It all seems to come full circle.”
“It comes together,” LePorte added. “When you get into the
theater it comes together for everyone. We don’t work with the band until maybe
two days before the first preview, but it will feel like we’ve worked with them
for years. Everything just comes into focus. It will happen here.”
Given there is so little time to stage the production,
missing just a day of rehearsal can prove disconcerting. Chang had asked for
permission to miss the rehearsal on the previous Tuesday, the day of the
“stumble-through” of the first act, so that he could make an invitation-only
dance call for a production of “Evita.” Permission had been granted and Chang
apparently did well, for he was on call-back for the upcoming Monday, but
missing that single day has presented problems for him. “I missed the
‘stumble-through,’” he said. “I have a little sense of…well, not terror…but I
don’t feel I know how the pieces fit together yet, because once you know your
little part you have to figure out how that part fits into the bigger picture
of the entire show, and there are some things that you are totally not in but
it’s those pieces that influence what you do – when are we going on…after what
line, after what song? That’s what I don’t have yet.”
One of the pieces is the chase scene near the end of the
second act, and on Friday, Underwood worked with the Cagelles and the other
involved cast members in staging the scene. The results were, to put it kindly,
just a bit rough, especially since the staging involved movement down the stage
stairs which, of course, were not there, as well as movement in the front of
the house, right before the first row. There was a lot of weaving and
crossing…and several collisions just four days before the scene would be
performed in front of an audience. The Cagelles did not seem overly concerned.
Heffernen and Vallier strike a pose for the start of a scene
“That’s kind of normal,” Benda commented. “I mean, when you
do big production numbers like that and adding principals and dancers to it,
you’re just getting a rough road map – you start here and you’re going here,
but there’s a lot that we can’t really do until we’re on the stage with the
actual set.”
Yet, it is just four days away from the first preview, and
not every dancer is happy about learning a new routine this late in the
process. As Reyes explained, “Right now, I’m not in the mood for learning new
choreography, I’m in the mood to rehearse what we’ve already done, really
learning it. It can be a little tough to be one day away from tech and to learn
new choreography. I want to polish what I have.”
“That was tentative choreography,” Chang said. “Okay, learn
it, but it might change.”
Vallier pulled the conversation back to more general terms,
commenting on how the group of eight Cagelles has become a working, cohesive
unit, much like a squad in the military will form bonds that will carry the
unit through good times and bad. “There are the big production scenes and the
chase scene and all of the back-stage scenes,” he said, “but what I love about
our little group is that we just somehow click and come together and it all
makes sense once we consult each other. I love the sense of ensemble that we
get here.”
That feeling of “ensemble” extends beyond the rehearsal
hours. When not in rehearsal the eight dancers will often gather to talk about
various numbers, decide to wear their heels for the entire day even though they
are not rehearsing, talk about the application of make-up (some have never had
to apply the make-up required for the show) and actually have a make-up party,
go out together as a group of an evening to do a bit of carousing, rehearse and
critique each other’s dance steps. It is, quite simply, a bonding process that
will enhance the show and their lives, for if there is one group in the show
that understands that “it’s not about me, it’s about us,” it’s the Cagelles.
Yet none of them are misty-eyed or overly sentimental about the profession.
They understand the life they have chosen.
“This all takes work,” Reyes said. “You’re almost naked up
on stage,” referring to the scanty costumes that they will be wearing, but the
comment goes deeper and speaks to every actor’s experience, for all actors are
“naked” on stage, and that ‘nakedness’ can sometimes have negative consequences.
“You turn into a product when you are an actor,” Reyes said, “so you have to
work to maintain outside relationships, personal work – family, girlfriends,
boyfriends – that sounds odd but it’s part of the work outside of rehearsals.
There’s work on different levels, like mental work, Yoga, to be a better human
being.”
One of the things the Cagelles have found odd about
rehearsing at Ivoryton is the lack of mirrors in the rehearsal hall, mirrors
that allow them to watch themselves as they learn their routines, help them
“imbed” the steps in their minds. “I love looking at myself,” Reyes offered, to
immediate chiding and laughter from the others. He shrugged it off and
explained, “The mirror is a learning tool, your friend.”
Heffernan added: “Mirrors would have helped…I’m not as
familiar with the style of ‘being a girl,’ so mirrors would have helped me with
that – beveling my leg or putting my hand on my hip. I don’t know what I look
like. I’m just looking at other people and trying to put my body in that
position.”
Vallier would have also liked to have mirrors available, but
he had a different take on their absence. “We used them in classes and in
school,” he said, “and when I got here I thought -- we don’t have mirrors --
what are we going to do -- but I found it to be like a little physical
awareness exercise. Okay, I’m always this far away from these two people. A lot
of shows you use the mirrors to learn the choreography and then they take away
the mirrors and you’re back to square one or square two and there’s a lot of
cleaning to do, Here, we don’t have to go back to square one or two, we’ve
already done that.”
Vallier took a breath, and then commented on his time so far
at Ivoryton. “This is my first professional experience,” he said, “and I’m
having so much fun. I really like working with all of these people. It reminds
me, when my feet hurt and I want to take a nap, why I love doing what I do. It
reminds me why I go through the trouble of putting on three-inch heels for a
couple of hours.”
Vallier had suddenly created a reflective mood, and Ward
responded. “The ensemble really has to have each other’s back, because anything
can happen. We’ll be running around and someone might need his wig adjusted or
his costume changed and he just needs a hand. Especially with the dance formations,
you have to be aware of everyone around you – if you’re up there for yourself,
you rush through something and hit someone or trip someone, it’s game over.”
Heffernan chimed in: “When you have three-inch heels on you
can easily fall over if you are distracted. There’s no time to ‘wander.’” And
then LePorte: “It’s scary up there.”
The Technical/Dress
Rehearsals
Part One -- Sunday,
Aug 3
If anyone walked into the theater at Ivoryton on Sunday
morning and was told that in just three days an audience would fill the house
to watch “La Cage,” he would have shaken his head in disbelief, for the theater
looks like it is holding a yard sale of objects gathered from a deranged
hoarder’s apartment.
Theater house on Sunday, Aug. 3
The first eight rows of seating are non-existent (stacked to
the rear of the house). In their place, gathered on tables, chairs and the
floor, is an amazing collection of lights, props, wires, paintings, broken
chairs, dusty stemware, silverware, mannequins, artificial flowers, hammers,
screwdrivers, a forest of ladders and objects whose names and uses are known
only but to God and the production crew.
Adding to the visual chaos is a cacophony of chiming church
bells, the band warming up, doorbells ringing (actually, trilling) and a
hand-held drill whirring and whining. All in all it is a scene that could well
have been painted by Hieronymus Bosch entitled “The Garden of Thespian
Despair.”
Amidst the chaos sits Gonzalez and Doug Harry, the show’s
lighting designer. Although Thelen and Undwrwoood are in charge of this
rehearsal, it will often be Gonzalez and Harry who set the pace, or lack of
pace, for the entire day, for each lighting cue must be typed into the
computer, then the results evaluated, then changes made. It is, to say the
least, a laborious process that does not allow for a smooth run-through of the
show. It is, for the cast, a necessary evil.
Gonzalez and lighting director Doug Henry
at the start of tech rehearsal
As the cast deals with its costumes and make-up in the
dressing room, Thelen walks the stage, asks a question about a costume rack
prop, then turns to Nischan for a conversation about how the barn doors will
open and close. The reality of Ivoryton’s stage and the set itself dictates
that a lot of the work done in the rehearsal hall will have to be modified or
simply tossed. For example, the narrowness of the stage steps leading down to
the house will dictate a radical modification of the chase scene near the end
of the second act.
Thelen and Underwood ponder the
possibilities on the first day of tech rehearsal
As the production crew awaits the appearance of the actors,
Hubbard walks into the theater. “The anxiety level downstairs is high – a lot about
shoes and how costumes fit – but it will be okay.” Costumes are on her mind,
for the day before she had received word that costume purchases she had made
online with a company called Discount Stripper had been denied by the credit
card company – she had gone over her daily spending limit – “Whatever the hell
that is,” Hubbard said. Consequently, items that should be available to the
cast are not. Hubbard – putting the charges on her personal credit card – has
paid extra for overnight shipping. Whether it will actually happen remains to
be seen.
“I had this one-hour conversation with the credit card woman
about what I had ordered,” Hubbard said. Hubbard’s voice went flat, losing its
British accent: “’Let’s see. You ordered one black corset, with or without
restraints.’” She laughed, but behind the laughter is concern, for problems
with the costumes – actually, lack of costumes at this stage of the game, had
not been foreseen. Another thunderbolt from the theater gods.
The controlled chaos swirls around Gonzalez, who seems unfazed
by it all. She quickly becomes the focal point for questions, problems and
anything else that needs attention. As she is discussing a lighting cue with
Harry someone leans over and whispers in her ear. She immediately calls out to Nazro:
“Jo, can you go down and help the kiddies with their mike packs. Nothing under
wigs.”
Stage left: the decorated barn door is downstage,
the wagon carrying part of the apartment set is upstage of it,
leaving little room for entrances and exits
It’s an hour and a half into the first tech rehearsal and
the actors are finally starting to appear in ones and twos. Van Treuren paces
in front of the stage rehearsing his lines while Edwards stands with Hubbard
and Thelen having an intense discussion about costumes…or lack of same. Every
once in awhile a Cagelle appears in the wings, then disappears. Harry asks Van
Treuren about his multiple entrances and exits in a scene to work out the
lighting. “I’ll go through it if you’d like,’ Van Treuren says. “I’m dying to
do something.” In that he speaks for many of the cast members.
The cast assembles on stage before the start
of the run-through of the show's first number
Finally, the cast is ready…maybe…and Thelen announces that
they will try to go through the opening number. Gonzalez calls out: “Places for
the top of the show, please.” After several moments the band begins the
overture, and then Van Treuren makes his entrance and speaks several lines
before: “Hold!” It will be a word heard often over the next 10 hours. In this
case, as in many more to follow, the action is halted so a lighting cue can be
adjusted. Another attempt is made to run through the first number. Van Treuren
delivers six or seven lines and then, behind him, the rain curtain starts to
close – then stops. “Hold!’ The pulley system for the curtain has broken. Nischan
is called for. As the technical director tends to the problem, Van Treuren,
still onstage, uses the lighting to make hand-shadow puppets against one of the
flats – it’s going to be that kind of day.
The rain curtain
The scene starts again from the top, and this time the rain
curtain opens at the wrong cue. “Hold!”
The Cagelles make their first appearance. “Hold!” Lighting
needs to be set. Another attempt is made at doing a run-through of the opening
scene. The Cagelles get through the first part of their routine. “Hold!”
Gonzalez leans over to Harry and says: “We need to make it through the opening
number by dinner.”
As the Cagelles stand about on stage waiting for the
lighting to be adjusted, Vallier raises his arms. He’s in a bit of pain, for he
and all the other Cagelles had shaved their armpits the previous evening. “I
didn’t know this would hurt so much,” he says.
And so it will go, through the afternoon until dinner at 5
p.m., and then back at it again until 10 p.m. When a halt is finally called the
cast has barely made it through the end of the first act. The hope that the
cast and crew could do most of the tech work in one day – it remains to be seen
if that had ever been a realistic goal – is dashed -- which leaves Tuesday as
the last day to complete a full run-through of the show prior to the first preview.
It will be a daunting task that will not be achieved, and one of the reasons is
the dark cloud that has formed over the entire process: costumes.
Part two -- Tuesday,
Aug. 5
Where to place the table for
the Chez Jacqueline scene?
Up on the stage, Thelen and Underwood work out the placement
of tables for the act two scene at Jacqueline’s restaurant as Nischan sits in
the house cutting strips of glitter cloth. “Glitter” has become a catch-word
for the show, a mantra of sorts – when anything needs to be taken care of, when
problems need to be seen to, “More glitter” is the phrase used, primarily by
Gonzalez, who more and more is setting the tone for the rehearsals as the
stress level rises – she is witty, somewhat acerbic, and often uses hyperbole
to make her point, but she exudes calm and competence, two qualities
desperately needed at this stage of the rehearsal process. Regardless of how
she is actually feeling, she reacts to all problems as they arise as if they
were expected and are no big deal.
Behind her, the first 10 rows of orchestra seating have
still not been set up, though most of the “junk” has been removed, yet no one
would know that in 24 hours an audience will be seated in the house,
Frank Calamaro, who plays Mr. Dindon, appears on stage and
announces that he is having trouble getting his head mike to adhere to his
face. Nazro calls out from high in the theater: “Use an alcohol wipe.” Calamaro
nods and exits as Nazro begins to do sound level checks, working with each
miked actor to make sure, among other things, that Morris, upstage on the
platform with the band, can here what the actors are saying, and more
importantly, singing. Hence, as the sound checks are made each actor must stand
on stage, alone, and sing. All actors comply, dealing with feelings of
self-consciousness as best they can as Nazro urges them to sing “at show level,”
but it’s an oddly naked moment, one that speaks to the insecurities that lurk
beneath the performing façade of almost all actors, for as they endure the
sound checks they have no character to hide behind, no illusions…it just them
up there on the stage, singing whatever comes to mind.
As the actors endure the sound checks, Hubbard appears in
the theater, costumes still on her mind, for her payment of $150 for overnight
delivery has not been money well spent – much of what she has ordered, she has
learned, won’t arrive until Wednesday. She needs an alternative plan. “I’m
calling sex toy stores right now,” she says. As the tech rehearsal finally gets
underway, Hubbard shrugs and says, “I’m off to buy costumes.”
“Masculine,” the first scene to be dealt with, is the one in
which Georges attempts to teach Albin to walk and talk “like a man.” As the
actors tentatively work through the scene and go into the dance number it once
again becomes apparent that what was staged in the rehearsal hall simply won’t
work on the Ivoryton stage. At one point, Edwards gently jibes Underwood: “You
said we’d have more room – you lied.”
Rehearsing "Masculine"
There’s another, inevitable, halt in the run-through, during
which Van Treuren and Edwards, on stage,
engage Gonzalez in a conversation about costume changes, of which there are
many, most within a limited amount of time. One change that bothers Edwards is
the one in which he must exit dressed as “Uncle Al” only to appear minutes
later as “Mother.” Should it be done in the green room (something of a holding
pen for actors) or the dressing room? He opts for the dressing room – the green
room can be chaotic and deadly to costumes and props.
Most of the other actors in the “Masculine” scene have gone
down to the dressing room to change for upcoming scenes, but Gonzalez isn’t
satisfied with how the stage hands handled the scene change. She makes a
decision: “I need all those people back on stage.” Easier said than done. It
takes precious minutes – for Thelen it seems like hours – for everyone to
re-gather. Finally, they appear and run through the scene again, which calls
for a chandelier to be lowered as part of Georges and Albin’s apartment. It
appears from the theater’s limited fly space, shivers, jiggles and hangs at an
awkward angle.
“We have a chandelier problem,” Gonzalez announces.
From the stage, Calamaro looks out into the house: “I don’t
have time for my costume change.”
Gonzalez comments to Harry: “He’s got 10 minutes.”
On stage, Edwards turns to Calamaro: “If I can make it, you
can make it.” Calamaro thinks a minute and nods – okay, he may well have enough
time. Meanwhile, stagehands are moving the back panels – the ones that appear
to create the apartment walls. The panels are either not sliding properly or, when
they close, are not meshing. As the actors wait for something to happen the
right panel is pulled back – and with a ‘thud” comes off its track.
Finally, the actors again start to rehearse. This time, it’s
a scene with Jean-Michel and Georges. As the two actors deliver their lines,
Long is down in the house ripping fabric and reupholstering a chaise using a
heavy-duty stapler. A line of dialogue – Rip – Rip – another line of dialogue
-- Crack – Crack. The actors seem to take no notice. Then Van Treuren begins to
sing – but he can’t hear the piano accompaniment – something’s wrong with the
feed to the speakers that rest on the lip of the stage. There’s a “Hold” as
Nazro deals with the problem.
Then it’s on to another scene, which was worked on
extensively in rehearsals, but Thelen has to re-block. There’s just too much
visual confusion – the actors seem to be moving randomly or at odds with each
other as tables are brought forward for the start of the Chez Jacqueline scene.
Thelen asks the actors to run through the new blocking as he observes. “Tech is
the hardest part of the show. It’s when all that you imagined has to
accommodate what is realistic. It’s a constant series of compromises.”
Underwood directing two of the Cagelles
It is now close to 2 p.m. – 24 hours away from when an
audience will be sitting where Thelen is now standing. The back panels
currently don’t function as they should, the chandelier is still hanging at an
odd angle, wigs have fallen off, many of the cast members are not wearing the
costumes they will eventually be performing in, the tech rehearsal is running
late and the cast and crew have approximately six hours left to pull it all together,
to get to the end of the show.
They won’t make it. They will all go into the first preview
without having done an entire on-stage run-through, heightening the anxiety
level and compelling Hubbard, by Equity rules, to announce to the audience members
the following afternoon at the first preview that what they will be seeing is
the first time the cast has run through the entire production complete with
costumes, props and everything else that is required to stage the show. She
takes the edge off by telling the audience her experience with Discount
Stripper, giving them a little glimpse into her world. The audience loves
it…and then Morris nods, gives the down-beat – and the show, in front of a live
audience, is, for better or worse, on. Two hours later, the cast is given a
standing ovation.
And so it goes.
Opening Night
Friday, Aug, 8
Whatever problems the cast and crew have faced over the
entire process of bringing “La Cage” to life, the fate of the show is, by and
large, now in the hands of the cast. The actors have had three previews to see
how the show plays before an audience – where the laughs are – where they are
not – what seems to work and what doesn’t – where and how the audience responds
(something that can be measured not just by applause but by the electricity, or
lack of same, that flows up from the audience).
Hubbard giving her curtain talk on opening night
In a perfect world they would have had two or three weeks of
previews to clean up the show. In a perfect world they would have had all their
costumes rigged. They didn’t, and that’s reality. However, the three previews
have definitely brought about something very specific – over the past two days
Edwards has, in essence, lost his voice. He sought treatment and was given a
massive dose of cortisone, with maintenance doses prescribed for the next seven
days. He goes into opening night unsure of his voice. And so it goes.
In the dressing room, high heel
shoes await the arrival of the Cagelles
In the dressing room, some
of the wigs used in the show
There are two kinds of people in the world: those who are
familiar with the storyline of “La Cage,” having seen the production in one of
its many iterations in film or on stage, and those who are not. The opening
night audience seemed to be composed in equal parts of both. Hence, some
audience members were immediately in tune with what was going on up on the
stage and some needed time to work themselves into the story.
The opening number with the Cagelles, “We Are What We Are,”
captures the audience’s attention, and then there seems to be a falling-off as
exposition takes over, especially with the appearance of Albin and his initial
conversation with Georges. One senses that much of the audience is not so much
rejecting the relationship being portrayed as it is trying to understand its
dynamics. Things start to become a bit clearer when Edwards performs the
“Mascara” number, which receives a strong response, only to have much of the
audience thrown back into the dark (the script is intended to be coy here) when
Jean-Michel makes his entrance. Again, if you know the storyline you already
know that Jean-Michel is Georges’ son; if you don’t, then you believe (again,
with intention) that he is Georges’ young lover.
The rest of the first act works to bring the audience out of
the dark and cement its understanding of the relationship between Georges and
Albin. As the act moves towards its conclusion, cast and audience are finally
on the same page, so when Albin is asked to absent himself from the upcoming
visit by Anne’s parents, his pain of rejection is understood by everyone in the
audience. Thus, as expected, when Albin joins the Cagelles for his closing
number and then demands that they leave the stage – he will do the number alone
-- the audience is “with him.” Thus, the “I Am What I Am” number does what it
is supposed to do. As Edwards sings the final notes and strikes a defiant pose,
the audience roars its approval.
Mission
accomplished – the audience is eager to know what will happen next. More
important, the audience cares about what will happen next. As the folks in the
audience stand, stretch and go outside for some fresh air, they little know,
nor should they, what it took for Edwards, voice impaired, to belt out that
number.
Edwards singing "I Am What I Am."
Photo by Anne Hudson
If there was any doubt that the audience has been won over
it is dispelled by the extended “Masculinity” scene near the start of the
second act. With Van Treuren acting as straight man, Edwards goes through his
education of becoming “John Wayne.” The audience laps it up. From there, from
the audience’s point of view, it’s smooth sailing through the “Cocktail
Counterpoint” and the show’s anthem, “The Best of Times.” And so, when Jean-Michel
performs the reprise of “Look Over There,” in which he acknowledges that Albin
is, in fact, his “mother,” the audience has its happy ending, and shows its
approval with an extended standing ovation at the curtain call.
Opening night audience
gives the cast a standing ovation
Is the show now “clean”? Not exactly. Dance numbers still
need to be tightened, the stage crew needs to be a bit more comfortable with
scene changes (the back panels are still not functioning as they should),
timing needs to be honed, the follow spot needs to anticipate movement, some
minor bits of blocking need to be re-thought, and a way to anchor the wagons
needs to be devised (they move when the actors put pressure on them). It will
all be done as the actors and crew grow into the show and make it their own.
What matters is that the opening night audience enjoyed itself, and based on
comments overheard as the audience exited, that enjoyment will be conveyed to
others, giving the show good “word of mouth.”
At the cast party
By 10:45 p.m. the theater has emptied out. Slowly, cast,
crew and guests gather at The Copper Beech Inn, minutes away from the theater,
for the cast party. At first, it’s just board members, guests and crew members,
but ever so slowly the cast members begin to appear and the atmosphere becomes
charged. It has the feel of a graduation party, and so it is, for like a
graduation party, this is a celebration of what has been done over time – the
hard work, the set-backs, the learning, and the coming together to form the
“family” that will take “La Cage” through its three-week run. There is still
work to be done, but for the moment it is only about the “glitter.”
Underwood and his Cagelles
Coda
Saturday, Aug. 9
On a balmy summer’s evening, the show’s two leads, Van Treuren
and Edwards, sat on a picnic bench in the small park adjacent to the theater
and spoke about the production, which had opened the night before, and, more
broadly, their extensive experience in the theater.
Each man had played their respective roles three times
before, though not together. When asked if there were pros or cons to this,
Edwards said, “The biggest pro is that you get another shot at it. I find that
with the roles I’ve done many times you realize after the show has closed that
‘I’d like to try that,’ or ‘This really means this.’ For me, for this role, the
first time I did it I was a little young – I think I was in my early 30s – so I
really didn’t know what it means to be in that station in life where you feel
like you’ve watched a child grow up. And the world has changed a lot in the
last 15 years.”
“And dramatically so,” Van Treuren said, “since we both got
married.”
“It’s just the way you feel as a performer at a certain
point in your life,” Edwards said. “You have a little bit more understanding. I
think I didn’t know what it was like to be a middle-aged man. I was playing at
it.”
“That’s interesting,” Van Treuren said. “My brother, who has
revisited the role of Fagin (the aged thief in “Oliver”), did the role when he
was much younger and felt he had to play at some of those things, but the last
time he did it, just last year, he just had to say the lines – he was now old
enough so, well, the age things came naturally.”
Edwards picked up on the theme, noting that when he did “A
Little Night Music” he simply “was not anywhere near understanding what Fredrik
(who is experiencing a mid-life crisis) was going through – and Don Quixote,
which I’ve done I don’t know how many times.” In essence, what did he, as a
person, know what an old man desperately clinging to reality was dealing with?
Returning to the idea of doing a show that he has already
done, Edwards pointed out, “There’s a Yin and a Yang to that, too. There’s a
trap that you will go to an old, comfortable place rather than exploring
something new, which I don’t like to do. There are two kinds of directors:
people who want to work with somebody who’s done it before to make their job
easier, and then there are people who would rather not, they would rather work
with someone they can mold with their own vision.”
Van Treuren noted that the “time crunch” also influences the
decision to cast someone who has done the role before. “If you only have two
weeks or less, you would think that they would want to have somebody who has
done the part before. Both of these parts (referring to the roles of Georges
and Albin) are super big parts and if you don’t come in pretty well knowing
your stuff you’re really gonna screw up everybody else. The whole rehearsal is
going to be about you instead about the whole process for everybody – it should
be an ensemble effort.”
Van Treuren agreed with Edwards that revisiting a role
allows an actor to “find new things,” but he then posed a question: where,
exactly, do you find these new things. With regards to this production of “La
Cage,” he had a ready answer: “I’m finding new things because I’m playing
opposite him,” he said, nodding at
Edwards, “and he’s real different than the two other gentlemen I did it with
before, so that forces you to listen and to be aware. That’s part of the fun.”
“You don’t always get lucky enough,” Edwards said, “to have
someone playing opposite you who’s done it before who is willing to listen to
what you have to offer. Sometimes they’re still hearing it the old way, they’re
not paying attention. There’s a tennis match being played, it goes back and
forth – the other person has to receive and give at the same level, otherwise
it’s all kind of wasted.”
Speaking to that point, Van Treuren mentioned the extended
“Masculinity” scene that takes place early in the second act. Edwards jumped
in: “That whole bit is working” – he knocked on the wooden table top – “because
the beats are clean. I’ve done it before where it’s all muddied and it’s all
one thing – the other actor wasn’t letting a line land before we go to the next
thing.”
“The way I look at that scene,” Van Treuren said, “I’m integral
because I’m driving him to do what he does…” “Absolutely,” Edwards said. “…but
I’m also the straight man – pardon the pun – but I’m there to facilitate the
comedy. The comedy is also storytelling, it’s good storytelling because it sets
us up for the next scene back in the apartment, so part of the scene for me is,
yes, to react, but basically also allow him to capture the audience with the
humor of it all, which he certainly does.”
“This piece works especially in a small house,” Edwards
said, “because everything can be seen – a lot of the detail that we are putting
into the scene can be seen in this house. When we did it at the big theater in
Patchogue – that’s maybe 2,000 seats – a lot of the little things that you are
doing may not be caught by more than the people in the front row, and I think
there you don’t always get a director who is gauging that particular house,
they’re just staging their show.”
The mention of directors moved Edwards to comment about
Thelen. “Larry’s never done this show before but we have, so he’s open to our
suggestions.”
“He gave us pretty much free rein,” Van Treuren said,
“especially in the intimate scenes between the two of us. Even in the second
act, when it goes from intimate to comedic, when it’s just me and David he just
kind of allowed us to do our thing. Of course, he would pipe up once in awhile
about various things or he would encourage us, but I think he felt pretty
comfortable with us listening and reacting to each other, because David and I
have known each other for many years – we’ve only worked together twice,
minimally – we’ve always said, gee, wouldn’t it be nice to do ‘La Cage’
together.”
As for doing the production at Ivoryton, both actors are
glad they have been given the opportunity, if only because of the history of
the theater. “I think here – the first day you’re always missing the comfort of
the last show,” Edwards said, then cleared his throat twice – the problems with
his voice were starting to once again manifest themselves – “but pretty soon you
get bombarded with exciting things and new ways of doing things from the other
actors. I think we all kind of bonded in the last few days, mostly because of
the tech hell we went through…”
“It wasn’t an easy opening,” Van Treuren said. “Jacqui will
attest to that. The thing about this type of theater – there are all of these
great summer stock houses dotted throughout the East Coast – being back in
summer stock – playing in a theater like this – I feel like I’m back home. They
have such a wonderful history here; when you look at all of those pictures up
on the wall you just know this place has wonderful spirits.”
“When your housing is comfortable,” Edwards said, “and
everything has been taken care of for you, it makes a big difference. You go to
some of these summer stock theaters and they pay you good money but you still
have to share a bathroom with 15 people and you’re not near any conveniences.
I’ve gotten to the point where my agent asks for certain basic things before we
even go any further because – I remember peeing out the window at night at one
of the places where I was housed – I told myself I just can’t face the walk
down to the bathroom – I’ll be completely awake.”
“Here it’s nice,” Van Treuren said. “We have our own digs
and it’s just easy.”
The conversation veered back to the “hell” of the tech
rehearsals. Not surprisingly, both actors, having been through worse, were
philosophical. Van Treuren commented: “The biggest problem with this particular
production – it’s no great secret -- is the costumes. That was the big issue.
They weren’t prepared.”
“And it caught us blindside,” Edwards said, “because we had
costume measurements taken in New
York, but none of us had a fitting.”
“The rest of the tech rehearsal,” Van Treuren said, “you
know, the dragging in and out of the set pieces – I didn’t think there was any
great horror.”
Both actors have been in productions when they were not able
to get through complete run-throughs during tech rehearsal. In a previous
production of “La Cage” that Edwards was in he believes that the cast never got
past the “Mascara” number before going into previews. Van Treuren added that in
a production of “Kiss me Kate’ he was in last year they also opened without
doing a complete run-through. Van Treuren shrugged: “That happens.”
Edwards noted that, more and more, it has become simply a
matter of money. Many theaters are pushing for shorter rehearsal schedules – if
they can do it in 10 days why not try for nine or eight, “And the union just
sort of caves in,” he said. It’s also a matter of Equity contracts – the lower
the level of contract the fewer the hours Equity actors are allowed to
rehearse.
All that being said, and with whatever problems this
particular production has faced, both actors would readily return to Ivoryton
for a show. “We’d come back here for many reasons,” Van Treuren said. “First,
it’s always great to work, it’s great to play these wonderful parts, it’s great
to work in a lovely environment. It is also great to work for nice people who
appreciate actors for the type of work that we do. We’re treated well here.
Jacqui has put together a great staff that is really responsive to our needs
and she’s responsive to our needs and, granted, even with some of the problems
we’ve had she’s always been here and Beverly (Beverly Taylor, company manager)
always been here to help us.”
“And you know,” Edwards said, “the funny thing is, women say
you forget the pain of childbirth and that’s how you are able to have more than
one child. There’s no production that doesn’t come without some difficulty
along the line. We are resilient that way and we remember why it is we do what
we do and what we love about it.”
With that, the two men stood and walked towards the theater,
passing people sitting on stone benches that ring the theater’s entrance patio,
people whom Edwards and Von Treuren and the rest of the cast now down in the
dressing room would, in less that a hour, be entertaining.
In an email, Hubbard commented: “Obviously, at our size, we
don’t do it for the money, and those who work behind the scenes certainly don’t
do it for the glamour or prestige, but that moment when it comes together and
something wonderful is created and you know you have been a small part in its
creation – that’s what it’s all about.”
Author’s note: This piece would not have been possible without
the support and assistance of the cast and crew of “La Cage.” A special thanks
to Jacqui Hubbard, who agreed to the project, Lawrence Thelen, who welcomed me
aboard with no restrictions, Todd Underwood, who took the time to answer
numerous questions, and Mike Morris for his guidance on matters musical. Thanks
must also be extended to the production staff, stage crew and of course, the
cast, especially the eight actors playing the Cagelles and the two leads, David
and James. Break a leg, folks.
