Last week I went along with friends Lynne and Julie to the Prospect Playhouse to watch ‘Noises Off!’
By the end of nearly three hours, our sides were hurting from laughing. It was a terrific night out.
Full disclosure: My sister, Gabrielle, plays the role of Dotty Otley, and all family bias aside, she is brilliant in it.
A comedy, written by English playwright Michael Frayn, ‘Noises Off!’ is about a touring company of a show called ‘Nothing On’ and all the things that can go wrong with live theatre. So, that basically means it’s a play within a play… actors playing actors. Got that?
The first act set up the scenario for all of us. The cast of ‘Nothing On’ is in rehearsals, with an increasingly agitated director trying desperately to keep everyone on track before opening night at the fictional Grand Theatre in Weston-super-Mare.
It is clear from the first 10 minutes that nothing is going to go swimmingly, but just how far off the rails it flies is for you to find out when you see it. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve watched one of the British ‘Carry On’ films, but I’d wager that ‘Nothing On’ is not too far removed from the plot of any of them.
I found myself almost cackling at some of the mishaps unfolding on stage, probably because they hit uncomfortably close to home. Anyone who has been involved in a live production, stage show or event – regardless of how fine-tuned they may be – will no doubt be familiar with unexpected things going awry. I’ve certainly enjoyed my fair share over the years, and a number of them came back in a flood once I really started digging through the cobwebs of my memories.
The first incident that springs to mind was when I was about 11 years old and playing Dorothy in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ at The Inn Theatre in the old Royal Palms Hotel (where the beach bar now sits). Leroy Holness was the Scarecrow, Percy Whorms was the Tin Man, and the late Derek Tyler was the Cowardly Lion, with his daughter, Catherine, playing Toto the dog. Geoff Cresswell was the director.
Once we had travelled the Yellow Brick Road and made it to the Emerald City (represented by a very large green balloon), we were to call for the Wizard to come out. I’ve forgotten the actor’s name – John something – but he was supposed to be hiding somewhere behind the balloon or curtain (makes sense, if you know the story), ready to emerge at his cue.
In the five of us traipsed for the scene, and we demanded to see the Wizard. There was nothing. Silence.
I was young, but I quickly grasped a sense of the pickle we were in. Derek immediately started improvising, in that wonderful voice of the Cowardly Lion, to buy us some precious time and hopefully get people moving backstage to find the AWOL thespian. How could we pay-no-attention-to-that-man-behind-the-curtain if he wasn’t there in the first place?
“Awwww… he doesn’t wanna SEE us,” Derek started, all paws and gestures. “Why doesn’t he COME OUT?” he continued, increasing the volume as he went, trying to alert anyone in the vicinity that we needed one Wizard, STAT!
The other actors and I exchanged exaggerated glances and shrugged shoulders, partly acting and partly wondering how long we could keep this up.
Just before we started to fake a turn back towards Munchkinland, there was an audible scramble and thud behind the scenes, and mercifully a voice rang out. The Wizard was back in residence.
In fairness, it’s not the worst thing that might have happened in that show. My mother suspected – with good reason – that the large balloon was filled with hydrogen, not helium, even though the crew assured her it was not the case. One really hot stage lamp and we could have all gone up in a blaze of dubious glory.
Not too many years later, the Cayman Islands High School, where I was a student, put on a production of ‘The Dracula Spectacula’ and I won the role of Dracula’s mother. I was about 15 years old.
She was supposed to be a hideous old hag in the comedy/musical, rising through a hole in the stage at the beginning of Act II. I had a horrible wig to wear, along with a wardrobe of ragged, shapeless clothing.
On the closing night, either we had forgotten to bring the wig with us from home or someone else had. Either way, Act I had already begun before we realised it was missing.
For those of you who know me these days and wonder why I would have needed a wig, let me just say that my hair hadn’t reached its full… potential by then.
The teacher in charge was panicking, and so was I. What could we do? It was too late to go back and get it. So, we made the brilliant decision to put spirit gum, usually only used as an adhesive for fake moustaches etc., in my real hair.
It certainly worked a treat in that I was transformed to Medusa in no time flat. My hair looked appalling.
As I rose through the stage on my cue, there was a loud gasp from anyone in the audience who was expecting the wig. My mother visibly recoiled at the sight.
It was the closing party for the cast that night, but I couldn’t stay with my hair like that. We had to get home and try to find a way to remove the spirit gum.
It was hours of shampoo and conditioner with my mother trying to brush and comb through the mess, wondering out loud what teacher would have allowed this to happen, while I sobbed my heart out over the missed party and a possible shorn head in my future.
Luckily, with time and patience, mum managed to save my hair. I have to say, when I read that recent story about the woman who made a mistake with the Gorilla Glue, I shuddered.
I could write a book about the foibles, mistakes and gaffes I have had to face over the years, tearing asunder well-laid plans. Then there are the events or shows that have threatened to unravel before my very eyes.
In my 20s, I hosted Coconuts Comedy Club at the old Holiday Inn (now the location of The Ritz-Carlton, Grand Cayman). Part of my job was to make sure a comic didn’t go over their time. If they seemed to be going long, I just stood at the back of the room and held a candle up in their line of sight. They would nod to acknowledge the signal and wrap it up.
One week, with five shows in a row ahead of us, we had a very good headliner, pretty well known in the industry. He was handsome, well-dressed and delivered his material flawlessly.
Unfortunately, early into his run here, his wife in the US called to say she was leaving him. That was the beginning of his rapid deterioration.
By night three, the hair was a little out of place, the clothes were a touch dishevelled, and the face had a five o’clock shadow. He was paying attention to my candle signal, but I had to use it a couple of times.
As he took to the stage on the fourth night, the fact that he’d been drinking also became apparent. The candle ascended thrice before he finished his act.
On the final night, he went completely rogue and I had a loose cannon on my hands. His jokes were all over the place, he screamed at hecklers, and I could have waved a bonfire over my head for all he cared. The man was a runaway train.
Beyond giving him the literal hook, we had no other choice but to suffer through it, biting our nails until he came to a screeching halt about 20 minutes over time.
As the audience slowly exited the room, he started howling out the tune to “our favourite song” while sitting on the edge of the stage. It was brutal.
The guy is still working, so clearly that night did not end his career, but it was one hell of a rollercoaster ride for the rest of us.
Looking back on these memories (and so many more), I really can laugh about them now. There were some awful blunders from which I thought I’d never recover, but I have finally learned the hard-won lesson: Time heals all wounds… and hair.
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