I was now becoming aware of a dilemma that I would face for years to come; indeed, it is one I know many artists have encountered during their careers. I liked to have my seasons planned out well in advance, accepting offers of work as they came in and taking great solace in knowing where the bucks were coming from in the months to come. At this point, I had signed contracts for Rainbow’s summer season (“Anything Goes”, “Say It With Music” and “Cinderella”), MTC’s production of “Macbeth”, some Christmas Concerts with the WSO and “The Daughter of the Regiment” for the Manitoba Opera. Combined with weeks of teaching, commercial recordings, the World Curling Championship Opening and Closing Ceremonies and a bunch of one-offs, I was feeling pretty good. That was the up-side; the old adage about “a bird in the hand” springs to mind. The down-side was all the “bush birds” that suddenly started to chirp unexpectedly at the same time! I had to turn down a ‘Sir Joseph’ in “Pinafore” for Edmonton Opera, a ‘Doctor Pangloss’ in “Candide” for Hawaii Opera Theatre (that one REALLY hurt), a production of “The Dumbells” for Alan Lund at Tapestry Music Theatre in Toronto and a “Plaza Suite” at Regina’s Stage West!! There were no lessons to be learned here. It was, as they say, “the nature of the business” but I’d never really experienced it before to this degree and it was maddening! In hindsight, it was the treachery of making choices without really knowing what the choices! But I was grateful for the work, to be sure.

At Rainbow, we launched into a beautiful and classy production of “Anything Goes” directed by Alan (Lund). I was playing ‘Sir Evelyn’ opposite the wonderful Lianne Marshall as “Reno” and while I’d done the show years earlier, I was now finding the great joy that comes with playing those secondary (but far juicier) “character” roles in shows where I’d always been the romantic lead. Those “juvie” days were long gone and, truthfully, I didn’t miss them. While in performances for “AG” we were rehearsing the middle show, a grand Revue that we called “Say It With Music” (after the Irving Berlin classic) and I’d been tasked with setting the format for the show. Needless to say, Alan had a lot of input with regard to continuity and casting, but working with him was, again and as always, a great experience. I had a bit of performing responsibility in this one but, without the pressure of a through line to follow as a character, I luxuriated in doing some roles I’d not done before – ‘Tevye’ in “Fiddler” (a part I’d always wanted to play but at which had never and would never get a shot!) and ‘Bill Snibson’ in “Me and My Girl” singing “Underneath the Lamppost” and “The Lambeth Walk”. Because many of us were in performance in the evening with “A. Goes”, rehearsals were limited to five hours during the day, a situation which drove Alan nuts. But we all rose to occasion and everyone reveled in the big production numbers and smaller responsibilities with not a lot of pressure.

In the midst of all this, the School programs were, for a third year, up and running. Because of the show and rehearsal schedule, I’d handed over a lot of the set-up, organizing and grunt work to another Company member, but had committed to teaching the Musical Theatre Performance classes. As usual, anyone who was in the Company or had auditioned for the season was eligible to take part … and all the classes were packed once again. For me, these workshops became the heart of the Company. They happened in the hours before the evening performances and the energy and excitement, hustle and bustle of young folks practicing tap routines on the scene deck or the distant sound of someone rehearsing a song in a stairwell created a wonderful sense of community! I loved it!

I’m a gentle teacher … always have been, basing my approach in what I’ve gone through as a performer myself and how I want to be spoken to, directed and encouraged to get the best out of my abilities. While I studiously practiced that mantra, things sometimes get out of one’s control. Late one afternoon a large class had convened as usual in a Tower dressing room that had become our studio. A very tall young man with long red hair named Geoffrey was up to sing “You’ll Never Walk Alone”, an odd choice for a guy with a very low voice but I let it go. I could see that he was very uncomfortable but he got through the number. He’d obviously been singing in church choirs as he had that academic quality in how he enunciated words and sang the notes, focusing on technique rather than content. As I was making comments and pointing out a few possibilities for another approach, I noticed that he seemed to be getting paler. I asked him to do it again. The intro started and he stood there for a second or two not doing anything. Then began to fall backwards, falling, like a large red tree, no bend in the knees, no staggering, no sway, just toppling straight back, smashing his head into the wall behind him leaving a huge hole in the plaster board! Everyone in the room jumped to their feet in stunned disbelief. One student, Andrea, a nurse, flew forward to administer to him. Geoffrey was out like a light and it took a few minutes before he came around. Someone had got some wet towels and everyone was chattering about what they had seen, mostly about my reaction during the fall. I remember a certain baffled objectivity overtaking me as I asked myself if what I was seeing was actually happening. I guess my face had betrayed that thought as I watched him go down. He was somewhat dazed when he came to but otherwise alright. I broke the tension by telling him that he didn’t have to do the song again. The class finished without further to-do. By the time I got down to my dressing room word had spread about the incident and I was called “Killer” for the rest of the evening because I was so hard on the students in my class. We found out the following day that the kid was diabetic and hadn’t eaten any food before the class.

 “Cinderella” brought Richard Ouzounian back to Winnipeg, a special thrill for those of us who had worked with him during his MTC years. This show was right up his alley, lots of production, a bit of romance and, if I do say so myself, some brilliant off-the-wall casting. Stan Lesk and I were cast as the Ugly Stepsisters. Stan was ‘Joy’ and I played ‘Portia’, the “prettier” of the two stepsisters (still a running gag between us!). The role was another lesson in “approach” for me. It would have been easy to merely send up the role, to “eat scenery” and camp the night away, but I decided to take the bull by the horns and at least give the “lady” some basis in reality. But it became obvious early on that Richard was going for broke with “the girls”! While we built dimensionalized characters grounded in a need for attention and their refusal to relinquish the upper hand, there was, in truth, nothing that subtle about them. In one of their songs, “The Stepsister’s Lament”, they question why they can’t “get the guy”, blaming ‘Cinderella’ for their predicament. While “rap” had been around for a while, it had pretty well maintained a lane of its own in Pop Culture. Richard decided that it might be interesting to crossover a little bit and to perform the “Lament” as a “rap”. The lyrics (now spoken rather than sun sung) fit neatly into the somewhat aggressive delivery and, even with the normal orchestral accompaniment, it worked perfectly. Our first public outing corroborated the wisdom of the choice and the number brought the house down every night because it was so unexpected … and pretty great as well!

It was not, however, always easy going. Our adjustment into costumes, the make-up and hair and the SHOES took a long time. With the extreme heat on stage, the heavy brocade dresses we wore were almost the death of us. Combined with the huge wigs, heavy face paint (which we eventually got down to an hour to apply) and those damned shoes, each outing was a chore! The only thing that kept us going-for-it was the knowledge that the audience was eating us up, and the hooting and hollering following the “Lament” and in the bows was worth the effort … and there was a LOT of effort. Shaving my chest hair weekly became a dreaded event. With the dress being low-cut there was no avoiding the exercise and Stan would help with shaving the top of my back, much to his chagrin. Sitting backstage in the incredible heat with no time to remove the dress and get back into it resulted in the go-to pose in the picture here, one that got cameras clicking in short order. I perhaps give the impression that there was nothing redeemable about the experience, but there was. After settling in to the preparation routine, I found that the length of time it took to put on the make-up centered me. As I’ve written before in these pages, “doing” comedy is serious business! With a character as off-the-wall as ‘Portia’, there was always an internal battle to keep her controlled and centered in reality. With each performance it got easier but I never took it for granted. The summer sailed on with sold out houses (who doesn’t like a fairy tale musical) and a sense of accomplishment by everyone involved.

            The real world injected itself into our paradise from time to time. The Shapira thread would break out in regular unravelings. His admission of intent to do Timlock bodily harm made headlines again and yet another trial was set for the Fall. Chimes Dinner Theatre was also experiencing some upheaval … or at least, Timlock was. While house sizes were resulting in satisfying royalty cheques for me, the financial strains on Jack were taking a toll. I thought it was a case of him trying to do too much that was having a very negative effect on him. The combination of the Dinner Theatre, Rainbow and project after project (Industrials, convention entertainments) was beating him down. It was no surprise therefore when, toward the end of the summer, he gave notice to the cast that “Peg ‘90” would be closing at the end of the September, a month earlier than planned. Chimes Dinner Theatre had lasted just short of three years and, while the closing was sad, for me it had provided an intense learning experience I don’t think I would have had elsewhere. For that, I will always be grateful!

My experience performing Shakespeare dated back to my University days. In the intervening years I’d taken on a long list of characters both large and small and had always thought my approach to be slightly old-school-academic and, depending on the size of the role, challenging; but I’d always risen to the occasion by trusting my instincts and the musicality of the language. That comfort zone was about to be obliterated. Miles Potter was (and is) a well-established director, kind and generous, always making the point of any particular play accessible and gratifying for performers and audiences alike. One always understood his perspective. So it was with some alarm that I discovered that his approach to MTC’s production of “Macbeth” was to be, at least for me, not at all what I was used to. At the outset, the dreaded “table work” clued me into a very naturalistic style, very intimate, filmic and devoid of the sound I was comfortable producing when dealing with Shakespeare. Most of the cast was from Toronto, complete with the usual macho BS from the men that I’d abhorred in other productions and who, it seemed, were all jostling for position in the ranks. I learned quickly that all the out-of-towners were on the same style page and that I’d better get on board in short order if I was to get through this. I’d been cast as ‘Generic Thane’ but my major role was as the ‘Scottish Doctor’ in a number of scenes and in particular the ‘Sleepwalking’ scene with the great Seanna McKenna (Miles’ wife) playing ‘Lady Macbeth’. While we’d been working well together in rehearsals, I began to suspect that she had been tasked (by Miles) with bringing me out of my somewhat stiff and mid-Atlantic-accented portrayal of the character, to cajole me into using a more contemporary style in the role. It took me a bit of time to catch on.

While it was relatively easy to lose the “English” accent, the staging sessions were something else altogether. The character was somewhat enigmatic. He comes from nowhere and disappears later never to be seen again. With Seanna as his moment-to-moment surrogate I found myself getting more and more excited by what they had cooked up for me (and dear Evie Anderson as ‘The Nurse, who had trained at the Bristol Old Vic and was attached to the “traditional” approach as well) to deal with.  I called it the “American Plan”, based in getting rid of all the “accoutrements” and not “acting”. It was always and only text, text, text, repeating the “Sleepwalking” scene to “find out” what it “was about”. Seanna had her part down in spades and was doing a lot of “acting” in order to “sleepwalk”. It seemed that Miles had no pre-conceptions so our rehearsals were all very organic, low-keyed and unpretentious. Seanna was crafty. Miles said I should be ready for anything (their conspiracy now becoming obvious) and I could see a wee smile and glint in her eyes, like “watch out”. At one point in her delirium, ‘Lady M’ demands that Macbeth (who she thinks I am) “Come!” and take her hand so they can go to bed. I stood there (as the ‘Doctor’), watching, transfixed by the ‘Lady’ lost in her dream. But Seanna held out her hand, frantically motioning for me to “come” to her. So I apprehensively walked over and took her hand. In the great scheme of things, it was nothing … but it was everything. It was a powerful moment that Miles loved because of its honesty and, because of that honesty and spontaneity, the scene jumped to another level. It was exhausting trying to figure out what Seanna was going to do next and for the run of the show, Evie and I never knew what to expect. Indeed, at one performance, she “gave” Evie the role of ‘Macbeth’, motioning for HER to “come” rather than me, freaking Evie out in the process. Taking risks like that depends on trust and I entered into each experience always wondering where it would take us. It was always exciting and just a wee bit dangerous! (A whole cast and I was to experience the same excitement and danger a few years later in a production of “Hamlet” with Keanu Reeves as the Dane … but that’s a whole lot of story for another time!) It changed my approach to just about everything down the road.

There was a lot of tension in the air as we moved to the stage and started to add the details in the form of costume and the weird make-up designs we’d been given. Miles, while concentrating on the technical problems, was still adamant about “SEEING who you are”. Where that demand became most important was in the Thanes scenes, where each of us had created alliances or enmity with ‘Macbeth’. It was important that the audience see those relationships. That “action” was incredibly nuanced – a look here, a glance there, a stiffening of the back in response to something being said. Those subtleties in the sub-subplots gave a life and energy to all the crowd scenes, drawing us (and the audience) deeper into the world we had created. Combined with the music, the magical lighting and set, the production was a glory to behold. The huge final battle scene is still imprinted in my memory; the music, blatantly and majestically religious, growing and growing in its intensity as ‘MacDuff’ mercilessly hacks away at ‘Macbeth” with his broadsword, reducing to “human” again after he’d grown into a monster over the course of the play. It was an overwhelming sequence. By the time we officially opened, everything was in place and feeling genuine.

There was still a bit of that “Toronto The Good” attitude toward the local performers by the guys from the “center of Canada”. With no good way to combat it, it was a presence that hung around the Green Room like a haze. However, I got in a jab as we moved toward the end of the run. Over the weeks leading up to opening, I had been out on weekends with a real estate agent looking for a house to buy. It had been slow slogging but, after dozens of viewings, I’d narrowed it down and finally come to the point of making an offer on a 1,900 square foot, three-story house in Wolseley, the heart of the “granola belt” in Winnipeg. It was an exciting day and I couldn’t wait to tell the folks at the theatre that evening.

“I bought a house today!” I announced to the gathered throng in the Green Room. Some had known of my quest, but a lot hadn’t. “Congratulations!” “That’s great!” they responded. One of the Toronto guys had the guts to ask how much I’d paid. “Sixty-two nine” I said proudly. There was a moment of stunned silence. “Wait! WHAT?” “Seriously?” “That’s a down-payment in Toronto!!”“What is it, an outhouse?” Lots of laughter. “No, it’s nineteen hundred square feet over three floors!” “You lie!!” “Not true” came the rumblings. “Guess that’s what you get when you live here in the Outback!” I said and walked out of the room smiling to myself as all the incredulity kept bouncing off the walls. But they actually got the last laugh.

As the show had settled in, some of those Toronto guys started a little pre-show show called “Thane For A Day”. They would get on the Tannoy and “interview” a different cast member each evening for a few minutes just after the half.  One of the requirements was to sing a few bars of a song with the word “thane” replacing another word, like “Thane is a many splendored thing” or “Thane is busting out all over!” I had been going on for a couple of weeks and always provided a few laughs before getting “Shakespeare-ious”. The guys were brutal in the questions they asked but always with a very wide sense of humour that everyone listening (in their dressing rooms) seemed to get off on. Unexpectedly one evening toward the end of the run, I got dragged out and onto the mic.

The Four Interview Guys: “Good evening and welcome to “Thane For A Day”. Tonight our guest is Generic Thane Number Seven AND, AND (they all yelled together with thick accents) The Scottish Doctor-r-r-r, Richard Hurst!!” Yay, yay, applause. I could hear all the reactions coming from the dressing rooms lining the hallway just outside the door to the Stage.  “Well, hello Richard!”

Me: I was feeling very apprehensive and just a bit frightened. “Hi”.

Guys: “So, congratulations on your new house!”

Me: “Thanks.”

Guys: “Nineteen hundred square feet, huh! That’s pretty big for a small guy like you!” Laughter in the hallway. “And only sixty-two nine! That kind of space would cost double in Toronto.”

Me: Feeling a bit more comfortable. “Well, maybe you should move to Winnipeg.”

Guys: “Oh, that’s not going to happen. But listen, we also understand that you’re off to Hawaii after the show closes. That must be nice!”

Me: “Yeah, it is, Y’know, get away from the cold and snow for a few weeks.”

Guys: “So we’re wondering where you’re getting all the money for this stuff. After all, a new house and trips to Hawaii …”

Me: “Um … er … I … um …”

Guys: “How can you afford that? Is Equity giving you some cuts on the side for being Vice President?” “Oooohs” were heard from the dressing rooms.

Me: “What?”

Guys: “Are there some kickbacks going on with Association, huh, huh?”

Me: “Um … er … I … um …” Lord, what was this turning into?

Guys: “Well, that’s not very concise, is it? Not very eloquent either coming from the National Equity Vice-President, is it? Guess we’ll never know the real story, folks!”

Me: “Um …”

Guys: “We know Richard has a great voice so now, Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s time for the “Thane Song!” Applause and hoots from the dressing rooms. “Off you go then, Doctor.”

Me: “Um … I don’t have a song.”

Guys: “WHAT? But this is Thane For A Day and you’re supposed to sing a song! Right, folks?” Yells of “yeah” and “sing a song” echoed down the hallway.

Me: “Um …”

Guys: “So, No song, then?”

Me: “Er …”

Guys: “Well, our time’s up for this evening. Thanks for listening! Let’s give Richard the send off he deserves!” And with that they started booing as they pushed me back into the hallway now lined with other cast members who had made their way to the stage entrance door. But there was a lot of laughter as well with people patting me on the back as, slightly humiliated, I slunk back to my dressing room to finish my make-up. Unfortunately, my “assailants” were also my dressing roommates. They came in like a little herd of otters, breathless with laughter, falling over themselves and excited to see me.

“Bastards”, I said under my breath!

“All in fun, Dick, all in fun.”  More laughter and applause as shouts of “We love you, Richard” came floating over the room partitions. I just shook my head and carried on with my makeup.

At least I had my house and the months ahead would be focused on balancing work and renovations … a combination which, while rewarding, took its toll.

NEXT: The Last of Jack and A National Treasure.