Blowout
Bad things come in threes. Number two tonight was a lit candle falling on my head onstage; number three was an apron falling off in the middle of the Fezziwig Christmas Party dance. The first bad thing happened before the show began, and is why I want to say that the National Arts Centre’s wardrobe staff are godsends.
We got the five minute call for the beginning of A Christmas Carol and, as is customary, the cast began to gather in the wings and voms of the theatre to start the show. Niall Patrick McNeil, who plays the beggar boy, was with me at stage left, running over the lyrics to “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” softly, with his beggar-boy-cap placed jauntily askew on his head. In my capecoat and top hat — looking like Abe Lincoln after a few too many Christmas dinners — I chuckled and suggested that it might be fun to rap the song on stage. “God rest ye, merry GIN-el-minz!”, I said, and began to crunk for my own amusement. I worked my way down into a squat position in a fit of improvised choreographic bliss, and then heard a telltale ripping sound from my posterior. At this point it was three minutes to curtain, and I was to be one of the first actors on stage at the top of the show.
I exited the backstage area quickly and reported sheepishly to the wardrobe room. “I think I ripped my pants,” I said. “But I mostly wear a coat in the show, so maybe it’s okay for now?”
“Turn around and let’s see,” said Linda. I did, and lifted my coattail. Linda’s eyes went wide for all the wrong reasons. “Wow,” she said. “You blew the ass right outta those things.”
“Were you goofing around?” asked Ann, somewhat rhetorically.
“No,” I lied, and put on my innocent actor face. I could have argued that dancing is a great pre-show energy-booster and necessary for my craft, but crunking to a rap version of a 19th century holiday carol is not truly a part of my regular routine. I’m sure they both saw through my denial anyway. “I was warming up.” I smiled, for added cuteness.
We quickly determined that I couldn’t go on stage with the rip as it was, because the pants would likely split right in half before long. We also quickly clocked the fact that I have to wear the pants through the whole show, so there was no chance for me to get out of them to have them fixed. In addition, there’s the scene at Fezziwig’s Christmas party, where the apron I wear leaves my back end rather exposed. Finally, as Peter Hinton began his pre-show announcement on stage, I reminded them that I had to be in the wings again imminently.
“Well, then, I have to do something right now,” said Ann. Then, with a twinkle in her eye of the sort I’ve only ever seen on a few other occasions in my life, she said, “turn around and bend over.”
And so, under stern orders not to break wind, a makeshift, under-two-minute repair was made to my pants just so they’d hold together for the show. “I’ve done this before for dancers,” she said. I am SO not a dancer. “It’ll hold for a bit, but no more squatting. And warm up before you get into costume, okay?” I was back in the wings and ready to start the show with time to spare.
We have two wardrobe staff working with us on the show. They get about 90 minutes to do their setup for each performance, and the two of them are looking after costumes for 21 actors. In addition to looking after laundry, they need to make sure every item of clothing in the show is prepped and in its proper location in the theatre before we start. In short, they bust their asses for us, and I don’t help them much by busting the ass out of my trousers. But they grin and bear it and keep everything working for us, and so we owe them a huge debt of gratitude for literally making us all look good. SO here’s to them, and here’s to refraining from fantastic backstage choreography while wearing a capecoat and trousers.
–photo by AndyRob on Flickr
Tags: Kris Joseph, NAC, NAC English Theatre, ottawatonite, Theatre
