So, three performances down, the first of which was the best, I'm on a little play break. Brush up is Wednesday. More performances Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
Yesterday, I went to church (RCCC), heard a sermon on 1 Peter 3, about mutual submission, but this was the wife's side of things. Next week is the husband's role. I almost left when I saw the topic, as I have no wife, and don't need to know about what a wife's responsibility is, but didn't, largely because there was a set on the podium, and I smelt a skit. Also, the music started and we were to sing some Christmas songs. How can you walk out on Christmas songs? The skit was horrible, in the true, elder sense of the word. (Arousing or tending to arouse horror. It inspired horror in me, but not at the play itself.) It was excellently done, (by Terri Tags, and Simon Woods). It was a husband/wife discord thing, and it was devastating to be there. But, it was good. There was authentic yelling and resignation to divorce. Some of the folks at night church discussed the skit, and this led to some interesting conversation. Some of which revealed things which cannot be repeated.
Getting divorced is like being in a horror film. The body snatcher/pod themed films. You feel like your spouse has been replaced because they are not acting like they used to. Frankenstein moves very slowly, but is relentless in his plodding pursuit. You can run from the divorce juggernaut, but it will get you eventually. Then there is the great horror movie theme of the unknown. What is out there? What is around the corner? Sometimes the monster is trapped in the windmill. Sometimes, the pod people are going to win. Sometimes when the monster gets close, you just give up and wait for it to choke you. I always wondered why people just stand there as the scaly green hands move slowly into the frame.
Divorce is so stupid. I hate it. Moses gave you divorce because of the hardness of your hearts but from the beginning it was not so.
So, Christmas Carol went pretty well. Minor things. I stood on somebody's trap door, I think. They were unable to come back out. My facial skin is raw from the dozen or so applications of makeup. I have to put on white, go to flesh, and back to white, so that is three per performance + rehearsals. Then there is the cold winter wind. Ouch. I understand that Saturday, I scared fellow play actor Susan's 2 year old with my scary antics on stage. She evidently had visions of ghosts as she was going to bed that night. I've had a couple of other small people, Tristan's sister for one, be a little afraid of me, but all the little folks in the cast want to grab the keys, open my pocket watch, and look at the coins in the box. I feel badly about scaring people, but it is part of the gig.
After the play little boys came up to me and wanted to see my costume, and see how heavy my chain is. I did several photo ops with little boys. One wouldn't get too near me as he feared I would drop my chain on him. Pictures with Santa? Easter Bunny? Scooby Doo? Barney? The Wiggles? and Marley? It's a new one on me.
So, I'm in a choir thrown together over the last couple of weeks that, on Thursday, will be singing with Kenny Rogers. I'm really looking forward to it. It will be another story I can parley into 6 stories of hanging with the greats, ala, (So, I was in Chicago, and I stopped by to see (Mr.) T....), etc. It is a nice group of people who sing well, and it should be a hoot. I think Clint will be actually performing on stage with or instead of Kenny.
Kenny: "Oh, Roo-oo-bee...."
Clint: "For God's sake. Turn around."
I'm paying $14.00 to have my $4.00 tuxedo dry cleaned before Thursday, just in case I'm called upon to sing the second part in "Islands in the Stream". It has clown white Marley makeup all over it. But now, being a theater veteran, I know to not make up my hands until I have everything on. I'm so stupid.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment