As posted a few BLOGS back, a play called “Live With It” had come into my life during the Spring of ’92 in a reading session for the Manitoba Association of Playwrights (MAP). It was written by a young woman named Elise Moore, and by “young” I mean 16 years old! The play was inspired by John Lahr’s “Prick Up Your Ears”, a book centering on the relationship between English playwright Joe Orton and his lover, Ken Halliwell. (A sidebar: I find myself amazed by the evolution of the references to the individuals in a gay male relationship; my “friend” became, very hesitantly, “boyfriend”, then “lover”, then “partner” then “life-partner” and now, incredulously ,“husband”! How time changes us.) Yvette Nolan had led that first workshop and I’d been taken by her process, inclusive and focused, always with the playwright’s intensions at the core of the discussions. And there were a lot of discussions. What amazed me most (and I constantly said so) was that someone so young would a) care about the contentious relationship of two gay men and its endless turmoil and b) have the right words to express the feelings and upheaval in that relationship. Elise was very shy, very quiet; in fact, she hardly said a word in the course of all the workshops in the months that followed. What she did was listen. She listened to Yvette. She listened to the actors. She took notes. Then she went away and made changes addressing all the issues that came up in the course of the discussions. There was no resistance, no acrimony; just listening. That impressed me if only because she was obviously eager to make her work better, but, at the same time never lost sight of her own vision and intentions. In that first workshop Gene Pyrz played ‘Joe Orton’ and I played ‘Ken Halliwell’. The project seemed to go dormant after that first workshop (although Elise was still working on her own) and I’d sort of forgotten about it as other projects crowded in.
Over the next eighteen months, the piece floated in and out of my schedule with numerous incarnations and revisions being read and workshopped by various directors and dramaturges and potential producers. Apart from Rory Runnels, the head of MAP, I seemed to be the one constant from the outset. Even the ‘Joes’ changed. And then Harry entered the picture.
Harry Rintoul ran Manitoba Theatre Projects. He was a wiry little man, intense and explosive, with a pent-up energy that would come rushing out at the most unexpected times. He was, to me, just a bit frightening. At some point in the workshopping process, Harry decided that “Live With It” was a potential play for a down-the-road season with his Company and he became a driving force in spurring the project forward. There were a frustrating series of encounters following each workshop with hints of my further involvement dangled like a carrot in front of me but never resulting in any firm commitment. I had become passionately attached to the deeply compelling and now more developed work and I really wanted the ‘Halliwell’ role. Being in on its genesis gave me, at least to my mind, a leg up on being a part of the first production, but it seemed always just out of reach. After months of this frustration I finally told Harry I wasn’t interested any longer and withdrew from consideration. It wasn’t a ploy on my part. I’d just had enough of the back and forth and decided to move on.
“Just one more”, said Rory, in an attempt to get me back on board. It was now mid-September of ’93. Reluctantly I said yes, but that this would be the last time. Rick Skene was hired to lead the workshop. I enjoyed Rick. He was easy-going, wonderfully sarcastic and glib, but always seemed to ask the right questions of Elise at the right time. Ross McMillan, a local actor and playwright I didn’t know very well, was reading ‘Joe’. By now, I had a pretty good bead on ‘Ken’ and his arc. While details had altered a great deal over the course of the play’s development, the focus was the same – the turbulent relationship between the two men and its gruesomely tragic outcome. Ross was wonderful to play opposite. He was focused and purposeful. The last reading in the workshop felt like the world had disappeared and it was just Ross and I rushing toward Doom. It was completely fulfilling and satisfying. Rory, Harry and Rick pulled me aside after it was over and officially offered me the part. I breathed a sigh of relief. The pay was a pittance and I would have to shave my head, but it was mine! I didn’t know who was going to play ‘Joe’. I headed off for a couple of shows out of town and returned for another “Christmas Carol” at MTC. I spent a couple of weeks in Hawaii learning lines in the sun. Sam work still thrummed unavoidably in the background, but the New Year was looking very busy.
The play was scheduled for a February premiere and after the small bump of Harry and Rick trying to decide who should play ‘Joe’, Ross was, thankfully, finally hired and that was that. At yet another “final” workshop in early December, everything had been set in stone. Since there was so much to learn and because the depth of the relationship was at the core of the piece, Ross and I decided it would be worth our while to meet when I got back to learn lines together. More importantly, it would give us a chance to learn more about each other personally and our ways of working, to be as comfortable as possible with each other just to save time during the rehearsal process. There were now six weeks before rehearsals began and we took full advantage of the time. For me, it was very easy. Having had the luxury of all the workshops gave me a sense of security and I found myself feeling very calm. It seemed so right to be doing this show.
As we went into rehearsals there seemed to be a great deal of excitement circulating in the community about the project. The opening was already sold out! First order of business was to get a photo taken for the poster. Ken Halliwell was bald. He wore a wig in life and looked pretty attractive in it. But since I’d not shaved my head at that point, we went for the “wig” look. They tried to make my own hair look as much like a wig as possible. Big fail on that to my eye; however that’s what we went with.
Over the months since the last workshop, Elise had been making “improvements” to the script in spite of the fact that we’d all agreed on her final draft. We had started blocking right away and, assuming the script was as we had left it, were surprised by the additions. It didn’t take long for them to be excised – they didn’t add anything to the script – and things moved along very quickly after that. Ross and I were off-book for the most part. The many hours we’d spent together had given us a solid blueprint for the trek. We KNEW these characters intimately and had actually become protective of them. Rick was, for want of a better word, a bit of a jock. While his demeanor was jocular (no pun intended) and affable, his directorial approach was, at the outset, somewhat mechanical. The emotional intricacies of the two men seemed secondary to “putting the show up” and while understandable (we only had two weeks to opening!) Ross and I found it somewhat frustrating as time went on. There were a great many questions we needed answered to solidify our journey and they weren’t being addressed. Out of self-preservation, we dug in and created our own answers. That seemed to work.
There were some wrangles about the urgency of getting the four chairs, which acted as “the bed”, replaced by the actual bed around which much of the action centered. And there was also the realization that perhaps we had done too much work on our own. I think I’ve learned over time that a director doesn’t have the intimate details of the characters as “down” as the performers playing them. The director’s view is, out of necessity, more universal, but leads to frustrations when questions aren’t satisfactorily answered. “Where did we leave off?” would be Rick’s starting point at the start of the day and we would force ourselves through more hours of blocking all the while tugging at the bit to plumb the depths of the relationship further. Amazingly, we had our first run-through on the fourth day of rehearsals – which was a good thing because we only had nine more working days before opening!
Ross and I could feel when something worked. It was unspoken (as these things usually are) and a small look at each other would confirm it for us. We ached to have the house lights turned off allowing us to enter into this world without being aware of the watchers. We became slightly resentful of the growing directorial “intrusion” into these lives we were inhabiting and couldn’t understand why he just wouldn’t let us get on with it. I guess that’s the danger of a two-hander. Eventually the director/actors “ménage a trois” becomes a two-against-one complexity. However, as time went on, Rick, perhaps sensing the potential for discord, began to ask important questions that made Ross and I stop and assess what we were really thinking. Does ‘Joe’ have any redeeming qualities? Is ‘Ken’ truly insane? The discussions were exhausting and yielded little that was actionable but served to make Ross and me tighter with each other as performers. Scenes were grew more intense, especially the kissing scenes. Ross is straight and kissing another man was not a normal thing for him. From a tentative and slightly embarrassed beginning, the kisses got longer and longer. When our lips parted, we eventually stopped looking at each other as Ross and Richard but as ‘Joe’ and ‘Ken’. It was magical to be so far into the characters.
Shaving my head was a new experience. I’d shaved my chest a couple of times for shows, but the head was something else. With Rick standing by, the hairdresser buzzed the hair down to my scalp then lathered me up and, with a straight razor (which made me very nervous) made me bald! I watched Rick’s face as I sat facing away from the mirror and his reactions were very funny – amazement, skepticism, some fear, all of which were put on to get a rise out of me … and they did. When the hairdresser finally turned me around to look at myself I was surprised more than anything else. As the picture will attest, the look wasn’t all that bad. There was an edgy, slightly alien aura about me, but the shape of my head wasn’t unpleasant to the eye. I started to wonder how folks would react as they saw me for the first time. Ultimately, I needn’t have worried. Most were pleased at the change, some laughed, but no one, thankfully, was repulsed. The one thing I was was cold! It was mid-February and I hadn’t thought to bring a hat with me, so I froze on the way back home that day. I kept putting my hand up and rubbing my dome, trying to adjust to the feeling. I looked at myself for a long time in the bathroom mirror, trying to understand this new Richard. I could “live with it” for the time being.
Rehearsals continued. ‘Ken’ is on a rolling boil for most of the play. His angst and hyper-emotional state propel him forward, uncontrolled, belligerent, aggressive; but at times, in my playing, it all seemed one-note, always turned up to ten. Trying to find different dynamics was very difficult. It led to some tension in the room if only because I was in a constant state of agitation both as the character and myself, desperate for some emotional landing pad on which to rest, if only for a moment. It was exhausting. My friend Teresa (Lee) was a brick during the last days of rehearsal. She would come over late in the evening and take me through the lines, ask questions and offer objective suggestions, all of which served to ground me.
We moved into the final day of tech and, eventually, to the last scene about which both Ross and I were very apprehensive. Although we had talked about being naked on stage, neither of us had had that experience. There was no frame of reference for exposing oneself in front of other people. In the play, the characters spiral downward into their self-made hell culminating in the release of the long-built-up antagonism and hatred of each other as ‘Ken’ bludgeons ‘Joe’ to death with a hammer and then kills himself. In the dimly lit moments that follow, they take off their clothes and, unfettered, hold each other, both finally at peace. That afternoon, Rick cleared the room of folks except for the stage manager and the lighting technician in the booth for the last scene to take place. The lighting had focused down to a very dim spot by this point. At its edge, we were shadows. We were so deeply into the playing that there was no thinking about it. We had mimed the undressing up to that point; now, with buttons, belts, zippers, the physical mechanics were automatic. I remember, as I took off my underwear, that there was something freeing about it, a relinquishing of artifice, natural in death, in the intensity of their redemption. We moved toward each other and sat at the end of the bed. The lights slowly faded to black as I curled up in a fetal position, his arm encircling my head in his lap, my face looking up at him. In the dark, Stage Management brought out robes for us and that was it. The house lights came up and we sat in silence for a very long time. There was no “How did that feel?” by anyone, least of all Ross and I. I don’t think anyone knew what to say. I remember tears welling up in my eyes at one point in the quiet. The experience had been profound. Rick finally said “Okay, let’s take a break. You guys put on some clothes and we’ll meet in the Green Room for notes”. The only thing I said to Ross in the dressing room was “That was heavy-duty”. He agreed. It was powerful and humbling beyond description. The nudity was never actually talked about in the runs before opening. Much earlier in rehearsals it had crossed my mind that people I knew well would be seeing me naked, making “assessments”, and I wondered if this would change their attitudes toward me. After we did it that day, the thought became unimportant.
Opening was surreal. The response was rapturous. The audience was effusive in its praise afterward. Reg Skene (Rick’s Dad, Theatre Professor at the University of Winnipeg, and a Free Press Theatre critic) told me that he had been “longing to see me do something like this” and got very emotional. Some said I looked “beautiful” with my head shaved. One never knows if the words people say on opening night are sincere. From their unanimity, I got the sense that folks were genuinely affected by the piece and our performances. All the emotion and energy of the evening suddenly crashed into me. I bid everyone good night and, still clinging to the utterly visceral satisfaction of the three hours just passed, headed out into the reality of the February night chill and home on the bus.
There were a lot of praising phone calls in the days that followed. The Free Press critic who had reviewed the show (Kevin Prokosh) called my performance “a revelation after years of semi-challenging character roles”. I guess the song-and-dance-man image was fading a bit and I was now “legitimate”! The run was very short. In fact the whole project, from beginning of rehearsals to closing night, was less than a month. Word had spread and we were sold out most nights. The power of the play always took the audiences by surprise. For me, the acting experience itself was something that touched me very deeply. The fact that I could reach inside each night, bring this man back to life and affect an audience was the greatest reward. I wanted more of that! The compliments never stopped and my “cred’ went up a great deal. The “more of that” was only a few months away!
As usual, my other life quickly consumed me with contracts and budgets and the travel arrangements for musicians in Regional Theatre productions across the country. As well, “Phantom” was about to head off to Southeast Asia on its Tour. Thankfully, with the advent of spreadsheet programs (remember, this is 1994!), my worry about making mathematical errors was eased because this miracle of computer technology did all the work for me! I just had to enter a few salary and pension numbers in a formula grid I’d created and, with the push of a button, the payroll was done!
At about the time “Live With It’ closed, the Manitoba Theatre Centre announced that Keanu Reeves would be playing ‘Hamlet’ in their next season. KEANU REEVES!!?? I was a huge fan (this was long before “The Matrix” films) and my brain went into overdrive trying to figure out how I could be involved in this project. That would be an ongoing quest for a little while.
With the success of “Live With It” I’d suddenly become a hot commodity. Rory at MAP talked to me about developing a one-man show based on the life of Lorenz Hart, Richard Rogers’ great lyricist. Harry had approached me about a show called “Whale Watching Weather” for Theatre Projects. But this was all talk. Not to let any grass grow under my feet, I immediately went into rehearsals for the Winnipeg Jewish Theatre/MTC co-production of “Diary of Anne Frank” playing the role of ‘Mr. Dussel’. Kim McCaw was directing. All did not go as planned.
There are probably few people alive who don’t know the story of Anne Frank and her Family hiding in a tiny secret attic space in Amsterdam during the Nazi occupation of Holland. The play is incredibly affecting. There were points during rehearsals when we had to force ourselves to stay “in” the piece because to step “out” for even a moment would result in being overwhelmed by emotion. We all supported each other and were a close-knit group.
One morning I got a call at home asking if I could come in to the Rehearsal Hall earlier than scheduled. Our ‘Mr. Frank’, Earl Kline, had suffered a stroke at home the evening before! Everyone was devastated as we gathered. Earl was a funny, sweet man, perfectly cast as the generous and compassionate ‘Mr. Frank’. We were understandably low-keyed as we waited for more news on his condition from the Health Sciences Center. He had been listed in “serious condition” but was improving. We ran through the first Act and were told that another actor from Vancouver would be flying in the following day to take over the role. As the day progressed, we couldn’t concentrate and were let go in the late afternoon. Just after dinner, I got a call from Kim telling me that Earl had died! He had been awake and in great spirits and there were no signs that anything was wrong. He was gone! News spreads very fast in this business and I began getting phone calls from all over the county. After a while, I just let them go to the machine. Watching TV seemed frivolous so I started ironing shirts, trying to distract myself. I picked up a few of the messages and called a few folks back but nothing seemed to penetrate the sadness. I dreaded rehearsal the following day.
Ron Halder, the new ‘Mr. Frank’ (he had played the role recently), had arrived and, obviously understanding our plight, was very sensitive in this difficult situation. We took him through the first act blocking and made slight adjustments and called it a day. The rest of the rehearsal period went very smoothly. We rallied around Ron which eased us all forward to the opening. The play left us exhausted every night in the run. Death and high emotion seemed to be my lot in my theatrical life of late. I needed something different!
I set up an audition for “Hamlet”. Amazingly to me, I was asked to audition for Rainbow’s season of “Brigadoon” and “Damn Yankees”. I’d also committed to doing the first workshop of a new play by Bill Harrar for Prairie Theatre Exchange. I found, because of scheduling conflicts, I had to make a choice between a production of Norm Foster’s “Ethan Claremore’s Christmas” and James Sherman’s comedy ‘Beau Geste. Considering the past few months, I chose the latter.