Empathy is a great quality to have in an actor’s toolbox. Empathy helps us understand the feelings of others and assists in identifying with a character, giving dimension to the words and actions required by the playwright. It allows us to discover routes toward inhabiting the character of a “villain” or a “hero” in circumstances that are perhaps beyond our own life-experience. Within the parameters of a play its use is objective, moderated and confined by the script. However, in life there is no script and empathy can be a blessing and a curse. It can take us by surprise and confound us, presenting dilemmas in our response to it. It was with that surprise I found myself caught, juggling appropriate personal and professional responses in a number of situations over a very short period of time.

            For almost three years, the “Shapira Saga” had been flitting about the edges of the Winnipeg artistic community. Now, in what was to be a last gasp, the drama inserted itself once again. Shapira had admitted to conspiring to “do bodily harm” to his perceived rival at Rainbow Stage, and in one more court appearance had been sentenced to another jail term, this time for 18 months. While we had become somewhat inured to all this drama, it now seemed to have a sense of finality to it. Three years is a long time to be embroiled in chaos and upheaval in one’s life and, when put that way, I began to wonder how Shapira had been managing to get through it all. My reactions at the start of this long trek had been of disappointment, anger, confusion, and for all of us it was with some disbelief that we watched this play out on television screens across the country!

            Over this time, I’d had a few conversations with Jack – documented in earlier postings – but never felt any remorse from him but rather frustration and a lot of anger. It wasn’t surprisingthat things had ended up at this point. However, in my own thinking, I was continually aware of the tragic figure he had become and it was in that context that I responded to him when we talked … not with pity but with a hesitant compassion. He’d done some bad stuff and had affected a lot of people negatively; but behind all the bitterness and belligerence I knew there must be a core deep inside fighting to find a way back to honour even as he created more turmoil for himself. Despite being the target of his vitriol in the past, this knowledge eased my own reluctance to forgive him. There comes a point when all one can do is shake one’s head in response; but at the same time I wished for a sign, some small indication that there might be a way in to ease his pain and anger. That sign never came. I saw him only once again, a few years later in a most unexpected but not surprising place.

            I was forty-six by the time I got to work with Maureen Forrester. My early musical experiences had been pretty much centered on classical music. I don’t know how that happened, how a style of music appeals or repels, but I was consumed by classical music. I would conduct orchestras in my bedroom. I would take every opportunity to hear the symphonies of the great composers and I became familiar with the artists on the inexpensive recordings I bought from Steinberg’s Supermarket with my allowance on Friday evenings. A voice that held me spellbound because of its ethereal beauty was that of Canadian contralto, Maureen Forrester, a “Montreal girl” who had become world famous as a concert artist though her performances of Mahler and Handel. My first experience hearing her sing live (documented much earlier in these posts) was when I was 15. It was in “Judas Maccabaeus” by Handel sung by The Montreal Elgar Choir, an organization I would join the following year. I sat (beside her mother actually) breathless in the balcony of St. James United Church, transfixed by the astonishing luxury of her sound. I never missed chance to hear her whether it was on television, radio or on recordings. In interviews, she had revealed herself to be “just a hometown girl” with no airs about her, very down-to-earth and unpretentious. I wanted to know her; I wanted her as a friend!

I had come close. I had worked with her son, Daniel Kash, in “Evita” in Halifax. Surreptitiously, I had watched his Mother one evening from across the room at a Canada Council reception following a performance, not daring to approach her even though Daniel had said he would introduce me. Now, I found myself cast in Manitoba Opera’s “The Daughter of the Regiment” playing the role of ‘Hortensius’ opposite … as if you hadn’t guessed … Maureen Forrester as ‘The Marquise of Berkenfield’!!          My now-good-friend Dottie Danner (this was our third show together) was our Director and staying at my apartment. David Agler was the Conductor. The glorious Tracy Dahl was playing ‘Marie’ (the “Daughter”) and Joseph Wolverton was ‘Tonio’ her love interest! It was a great cast!

            At the first rehearsal, I walked into the hall and saw my idol sitting alone looking over her score before we began. I gathered up my courage and moved over to her. Like an acolyte before a celestial being, I knelt (yes, knelt) beside her chair, told her who I was and found myself with a kind of disbelief (as had been the case many years earlier in “Camelot” with Howard Keel in Seattle) looking into the eyes of one of my idols. I launched into a gushing, unadulterated hymn to her praise. I told her I’d worked with her son (which I thought would endear me to her) and said that I was looking forward to performing with her. She was incredibly gracious and warm (just as I wanted her to be) with a motherly quality about her in which I got easily lost.  We were off to the races.

‘Horensius’ doesn’t sing all that much but has a fair amount to say. He is the ‘family retainer/butler’ to the ‘Marquise’ and spends all of his time in close proximity to her on stage. As is sometimes the case with character roles in comic opera, the interpretations can go in any direction and the sky is usually the limit, hopefully within the bounds of good taste and believability … but not always. Dottie and I decided to make him as old as dirt and with a major hearing problem requiring him to use an ear horn. That was all I needed and we were on our way. The role was to serve a surprising dual purpose as time went on.

Early in the rehearsals, Dottie found herself having some problems with one of non-singing but important cast members. This lady been out of the business for a lot of years and had lost much of her stage skills – like remembering lines – but had been cast for her age. It wasn’t working and she was replaced. There wasn’t a ruthlessness to the replacement but rather a for-the-good-of-the-production approach that seemed to resolve itself amicably. But this situation had some bearing on where we were slowly finding ourselves with my Goddess. Maureen had built her career as a concert singer and it hadn’t been until later in life that she had moved into the world of opera! While her considerable vocal skills put the great depth and emotion of a song or aria into sharp focus, moving about the stage and acting at the same time had not been a part of her training. I think it was a case of most of her roles being of the “park and bark” variety, where a kowtowing director would say “stand here and sing” and left it at that. As a result, remembering where she was supposed to be and when was not high on her list of priorities. Dottie wasn’t of that school … not by a long shot! Our Conductor was very impatient with all the “theatre” that was getting in the way of the music and it led to some tense moments between him and our theatre-based Director. Dottie “won” and blocking and character building took a lot of time. However, early on Tracy, who had worked with Maureen before, had whispered to me that I should memorize all her lines and blocking if only out of self-preservation.

Because Dottie was staying with me, I got some insight into what would otherwise be private directorial thoughts and approaches. She was concerned about her interactions with Maureen, not wanting to create tensions but finding herself frustrated with Maureen’s inability to remember blocking and line delivery (spoken) from one rehearsal to the next. She was struggling and, for my part and because I was so close to her in the production, I felt helpless. I didn’t want to intrude even though I could see her floundering, and it pained me to hold back and say nothing. Dottie and I had had conversations about solutions but it was a delicate matter. At one point, we’d talked about having Maureen carry a script with her and had even talked about giving her an earpiece so someone in Stage Management could prompt her or tell her where to go on stage. But those ideas went by the boards and we struggled on.

It was a case of tiny increments – two steps forward and then one step back – and while she knew that we were trying to give her as much leeway as we could, Opening Night was staring us in the face. I could hold back no longer and finally told her, with great respect fuelled by my sympathy that she was going through this, that I was at her disposal to run lines or to meet before rehearsals and go over the blocking with her. “You’re a love, but I think I’m alright”, she said. I could sense a bit of desperation in her, but I could also tell there was a resolve as if she had faced these challenges before and, alone, had always risen to them. But those feelings of helplessness forced me to stay close to her as subtly as possible … for support and, well, just in case.

But she managed. She persevered. We all did. At the dress, she was very much on top of her role, so much so that, when she hesitated in the delivery of a line, I prematurely jumped in and started to say the line. She put her hand over my mouth and delivered it perfectly. There were no further issues and we sailed into Opening and the Run with all our lines in place and our notes flying high! Perhaps the turmoil she had put herself (and us) through over the rehearsal weeks was just her way of working it out, but I’m not so sure it had always been that way. The newspaper critic made note of her “comforting presence and dignity combined with the feeling that she might at any time start to skateboard around the stage.” I loved her for those qualities, for her tremendous skill and, most of all, for allowing me to be a small part of her process, one that taught me to maintain the course and that it’s the performance that matters above all, no matter how you get there!

It struck me long afterward that all those struggles might have been an indication of early-onset dementia.  She was only 61 at this point. Indeed, dementia was to be a major cause of her passing eighteen years later. I look back at those days and wish I could have been of more help but sometimes, just being nearby as mute but aching support is all that’s needed. And if you think this is an unabashed love letter to her memory, you better believe it is!

“A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum” was the opener of Rainbow’s season that year (1991). This was Stephen Sondheim’s first production wherein he wrote both lyrics AND music. “Forum” was based on the plays of Roman playwright Plautus and involved a very convoluted story of mistaken identities, deceptions, long lost children and general madness and hilarity. Years earlier in Portland I had joyfully experienced the exuberance and built-in energy of the piece playing ‘Hero’ (now being played by Kevin McIntyre), a young man who has fallen in love with a “courtesan” who is about to be wed to a military officer! This time I was playing the very small role of the ancient ‘Erronius’ who turns out to be the long lost Father of the courtesan and the officer. Yeah, a rollicking evening in the theatre! The major roles were played by Stan Lesk (‘Pseuodolus”) and Robbie Paterson (‘Hysterium’) with Torontonians Frank Ruffo and the legendary Jack Duffy also eating the scenery. Richard Ouzounian was our Director.

Our first rehearsal was a happy reunion with a lot of folks who had been about in past Rainbow seasons. Many of us were looking forward to being back in the artistic embrace of Richard who had directed “Cinderella” the previous year to great acclaim. As is usual at the first meeting, commonly called “Meet The Donut”, there were costume and set design presentations along with stage management’s usual admonitions and housekeeping and the election of the Equity Deputy, which ended up, once again, being me. Then Richard gave his remarks. With his usual panache and humour he sketched out the concept and approach, detailing some ideas for character portrayal and how we would work through the process. We took a short break and returned to a read-thru of the script. But something was wrong.

While we were reading, I kept noticing how Richard was losing focus. He seemed distracted and would get up from time to time and walk about the room, leaving occasionally and returning to continue this meandering. It was very unlike his normal attention to process. I watched and he seemed to calm down and I thought nothing more about it. But that changed very unexpectedly and quickly. The next twenty-four hours were intense.

Along with Jack (Timlock) I found myself witnessing, in minute detail, a dear and cherished friend’s emotional breakdown. Those unusual behaviours Richard had been exhibiting earlier in the day were the surface manifestations of a personal crisis which, over the next few hours, quickly grew out of control. With Forrester, I had really only been a fan, our “relationship” being based only in my long-held admiration and love of her voice. My response to her challenges, while heartfelt, was somewhat more objective. With Richard our relationship was based on many years of a close personal and professional connection. He was my mentor, at times my intime, my Theatre Hero and above all, Family; and now he was being assailed by forces beyond the control of any of us … and it physically hurt. It hurt because, in those moments, nothing I could say or do would ease his distress.

Richard left the show. Jack and he decided that immediate attention to the challenges he was facing was more important than a play. Once more, that Opening Night thing dictated, in a hatefully clinical way, that the show must go on, no matter the cost. I received a long letter from Richard a number of months later apologizing for what had happened. For me, there was no apology necessary, but that was a part of the recovery.  We are all often vulnerable to forces beyond our control and, while we sometimes succumb to the demons, there are places deep inside that hold on to the knowledge that those close to us will, just by their love and support, keep us from getting lost.  

The net was immediately cast to find another director. We were right at the beginning of rehearsals and not much had been done so someone new could take the reins rather easily. That “someone” ended up being Susan Cox. She hit the ground running with great energy and just a wee bit of sarcasm in her humour. She was British, had a great theatre reputation and was already very much in control, which struck me as odd as she had been hired a couple of days earlier. Our rehearsals were intense as we adjusted to each other’s process. Fortunately for me, ‘Erronius’ is a very small, although pivotal, role and I was pretty much left to my own devices after we set my one major scene. The rest of my work consisted of regular entrances as I “walked around” the Seven Hills of Rome seven times in order to get rid of the ghosts that are apparently now occupying my house which has been turned into a brothel since my departure … yeah, well, go on-line to read the whole story if you want to get unconfused. It was a case of making the cross-overs different each time. In rehearsals, it was pretty academic. In performance, it was another thing altogether.

The beginning of The Walk comes out of my first scene so it was just a case of exiting. The stage opening is about 60 feet wide and, with my tiny shuffling “old man steps”, it took FOREVER to get from one side to the other and I intended to milk it for all it was worth. A bit later, he enters again at Stage Right, stops for a moment and says “Second time around”; then, in complete silence, walks the length of the stage with all the action having stopped and those on stage watching him make the cross. But it held! There was a bit of a laugh from the house. That was all I needed. The third time, I decided to just hold up three fingers without looking at the audience. Big laugh! The fourth time I entered I started the walk, turned my head to the audience, grinned, gave them a “what’s up?” nod and they went nuts, applauding for the rest of the cross. Simple, simple, simple, timing, timing, timing! The fifth time doesn’t get completed because he is pulled back into the action of the play. Again, one of those delicious experiences that is etched so vividly onto my brain. Susan called me a “treasure” and we left it at that.

The show didn’t do well. Not many people had heard of it and audiences fell off as the run progressed. When the Producer starts handing out comps to the cast to get friends to fill the seats, well, it’s not a good sign. But there was no time to worry about that as we began “Wizard of Oz” rehearsals and the fourth year of the School began with more folks than we could accommodate. It turned out that people who knew they had no chance of being cast were auditioning for shows just to get into the workshops (which were only open to people who had auditioned). Smart, if you ask me.

Alan (Lund) was at the helm once again and I was playing ‘Professor Marvel’ and ‘The Wizard’. There is something about doing a classic that, at the same time, is perilous and uplifting. “Wizard” was, of course, a movie before it was a stage play. It is iconic and the expectations (on everyone’s part) were incredibly high. Duplicating the effects in the film on the stage is treacherously difficult and the anticipation of seeing the “tornado” or watching the Land of Oz materialize in plain sight is very high. One must rely heavily on that suspension of disbelief. But if you can suck ‘em in at those moments, you’ve got it made. Once again, Alan’s superior skill at creating the “magic” of theatre made itself obvious to all of us working on the show and, ultimately, to the audience. Once we got to the stage, we were propelled by the wonder of the story. But the production is a technical bear. The transitions from Kansas to Oz, while spectacular, took forever to finesse and Alan was once again fit to be tied that things weren’t going as quickly as he wanted. The sound was having some problems too – a perennial bugbear at Rainbow – and the number of costume changes for folks added to the confusion, tension and upheaval. Combined with the incredible heat and humidity of a Winnipeg summer, it was a fraught period. But we persevered and were rewarded with a run of huge houses and responses.

I loved playing The Wizard. Along with all the other characters, he is redeemed when the curtain is pulled back to reveal the Truth. Each night I thought back to all that had happened over those previous several months and how something that seems one way is oftentimes something altogether different. It’s our response to those circumstances that makes us human. The Wizard tells the Tin Man that “a heart is not judged by how much you love but by how much you are loved by others.” It actually works both ways … giving love and support and help as well as being able to receive it. Sometimes it’s hard to do, sometimes it’s easy; but, either way, it always takes us Home.

By now, I had managed to book a goodly part of my work for the up-coming season! I was off to Portland to do “Side By Side By Sondheim” (again), ‘Medea’ for MTC, “The Rothchilds” for Winnipeg Jewish Theatre, a Tour singing with The Air Command Band” and a production of “Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well” in Gananoque, Ontario.

But the best laid plans … well, you know the rest. How life can change in the blink of an eye!