The dressing room area was somewhat quiet when I arrived. There was some scurrying about as the costume department distributed undergarments now cleaned from the day before, and the stage crew was re-focusing some lights and mopping down the stage for two o’clock student matinee; it all seemed like the normal pre-show routine. But there was an additional buzz in the air. Because there were to be some cast changes, a little heightened energy was floating about.

            When I got to my dressing room, Joan Lees-Miller, our exceedingly accommodating and patient lead dresser, was organizing a variety of costumes for me to try on. Gary, the actor I was replacing, was well over six feet tall (and I wasn’t) so none of what he wore in the show was going to fit me. They had pulled some pieces that might be suitable. Before I knew it, I was in my underwear trying on a variety of shirts, doublets, leggings and hats while being assessed by the designer and the other dressers who would be helping me make my now vastly increased fast changes. Of course I still had to do my regular roles so things got complicated with timing and calculating where I would be when these additional changes were to be made. It was all theory as we stood in my dressing room. Nothing would be confirmed until we tracked my new scenes on stage.

      There were moments when I asked myself what the hell I’d gotten into! My adrenalin was kicking in and remembering where I was supposed to be and when only added to my anxiety. Stage Management was now in my dressing room talking me through the blocking of ‘Hamlet’s Father’s Ghost’ and ‘The Gravedigger’. I would get to do it on stage shortly but with all these directions being thrown at me and costume folks tugging and switching things off and on, I was getting more and more nervous. The only costume piece that couldn’t be switched out was the gigantic cloak Gary wore when the ‘Ghost’ walked the parapets and in the two scenes with ‘Hamlet’. I looked like The Little King but there was nothing to replace it. They managed to pin up the material from the inside so I wouldn’t be tripping over the excess. It would have to make do.

            “Richard Hurst, to the stage please” came over the backstage speakers. Wayne Nicklaus was taking over ‘The Player King’ role and was finishing up his staging. He had only one new scene to deal with. I had four. The first was easy. I lay on a plinth, dead, as ‘Hamlet’ talked over my body. Keanu seemed to be taking it all in stride … after all, nothing had changed for him. Then it was into the “Ghost’ scenes. The fortunate thing was that Keanu and I had gone over all this material a goodly number of times in our sessions together; and while I would be carrying the script, I wouldn’t be glued to the page; I could look at his face from time to time because I was comfortable with the words. It was all still nerve-wracking but there was no time to think about it. The ‘The Gravedigger’ scene was next and we got that done in short order thanks to the fact that I was playing opposite my best bud, Robbie. It was calming to have him near at hand, supportive and encouraging. Who knew how it was going to turn out.

            Backstage, there was now a major buzz. As the cast had arrived for the matinee they were being told of Gary’s plight and that Wayne and I were going on in his roles. The great thing about this particular cast was the camaraderie that had built up over the past weeks with Keanu as the center of our focus. Now the fellowship spread around and I got a feeling of safety and support in this unusual moment. Folks dropped by the dressing room with predictable remarks (“Ah, Hurst, now you’re in for it!”) and best wishes, but there was no turning back. I just kept going over and over the lines trying to calm myself.

           The show was held for a few minutes for some final arrangements backstage, and then the announcement was made about some replacements for that afternoon’s performance. You could hear the kids gasp when the voice relayed the information over the house speakers followed by a collective sigh of relief when they learned that it wasn’t Keanu who was out for that show. And we began.

I could feel the adrenaline coursing through me as I lay dead on the plinth as ‘Hamlet’s Father’ while Keanu spoke over me. It was torture! No matter what I did I couldn’t relax my body. I was shaking like a leaf and, despite being “dead”, my closed eyes fluttered uncontrollably. I was just thankful that the audience was far enough away so that they couldn’t see the material of the cloak vibrating over my body.

            The ‘Ghost’ dialogue scenes with ‘Hamlet’ went off alright. EVERYONE had gathered in the wings to watch and quietly applauded as I came off and dashed to the next costume change for one of my regular roles. In the Second Act it was into the ‘Gravedigger’ scene with Robbie. These comic relief characters are digging a grave for ‘Ophelia’ and hold back nothing in their thoughts about burying someone who had committed suicide. That scene turned out to be a total romp! We ate the scenery and laughed, and shamelessly “coarsed” (acting very, very broadly) our way through it. ‘Hamlet’ arrives and talks about ‘Yorick’ and my ‘Gravedigger’ goes on some more about the job of burying people. Having been primed by the laughs Robbie and I had received, I doubled down in my “interpretation” with great gusto and irreverence and got even more laughs. I don’t think poor Keanu quite knew what to make of what was going on. I think I was upstaging him severely with all the improvised “bits” I was throwing in, but I was having fun … and so was the audience. The show came down and I finally breathed a sigh of relief while enjoying all the pats on the back, secretly hoping that Gary would be out for another day.

But Gary was back at rehearsal the following day. Some of the out-of-town folk seemed to be incredulous that I’d pulled it off. Luisa Martin (playing ‘Gertrude’) mentioned that Lewis had commented to her regarding my performance that “he’s a good actor!” A few days later, he left a note on my dressing room table congratulating me on my work and saying that he hoped he would be able to work with me in the future on “something more deserving of your talent”. Yeah, well, I had that same “talent” when I auditioned for you!! At least I’d left a momentary impression.

As we continued on with the student performances Keanu got more and more secure and started to relax a bit. But the “to be or not to be” speech still seemed to be challenging him. The blocking had put him in a very confined area, caught on a platform with no space to move. His delivery was erratic to say the least and would be a watching-brief for the entire run of the show. The final preview (with an adult audience this time) went off without a hitch – a standing ovation at the end – and I was on the cusp of returning to normal daytime life.

During these final rehearsals, I was still spending much of my time away from the theatre doing “Samwork” (as I had come to call it). Regional shows were burgeoning and Livent’s production of “Joseph/Dreamcoat” was about to embark on a lengthy U.S. Tour. We had also landed the Southeast Asia Tour of “Phantom” and I was about to start rehearsals for a play called “The Fruit Machine” for Theatre Projects. So in addition to all the payrolls and budgets I was trying to spend some time learning lines. It was an embarrassment of riches all round.

The opening was somewhat surreal. Our performance was uneven mainly because Keanu was, understandably, nervous – a condition betrayed by the astonishingly ripping pace at which he took all his soliloquies – and that affected the cast. The house was packed with mucky-mucks, VIPs and theatre critics from around the world … literally – The London Times, The Manchester Guardian, The Globe and Mail, Canadian papers galore, People Magazine, USA Today – so the pressure was not small. As the evening progressed, I could see him getting tired. From my position down stage left just behind the proscenium where I watched every show, I saw him rally and fade, buoyed only by the fight scene and with the end of the performance in sight.

The lobbies were packed afterward, more than I’ve ever seen at an MTC opening. TV cameras, radio and print reporters were in every nook and cranny, interviewing anyone they could commandeer and the noise was intense. As we arrived upstairs from the lower depths, we were besieged by friends and fans wanting to “offer” their opinions and assessments, some positive, some cranky, some disdainful. I tried to avoid the naysayers but was caught up in their babbling “reviews” of my shoes and my tights! But those folks were balanced by the adorers and fans that had obviously enjoyed themselves. Keanu wanted to be any place else in the world but managed to be gracious and accommodating to the folks who thronged to him asking for autographs and photos. It had been a long rehearsal process and getting back into normal daily life was something I looked forward to.

Our first Saturday matinee defined the indicators for the rest of the run. There were a lot of “if’s” that would colour the performances. If Keanu looked into my eyes and touched me a lot during “speak the speech” he was at ease and we were on solid ground. If he stuck to the blocking, we knew he was in control. But it became apparent early on that he was his own worst enemy. He would chastise himself mercilessly if he hadn’t met his own standards and it was this brooding self-recrimination that pervaded the atmosphere. There didn’t seem to be anyway to help him other than metaphysically offering assistance through our collective support and good thoughts. When he was in control, it was beautiful to watch and listen to. When he wasn’t, it was very dark out.

The day off was Sunday and Keanu called wanting to do an “Italian” with me if I was up for it. The first hour was spent working the lines. He said he wanted to be letter-perfect. He talked as fast as he could and I made small, infrequent corrections as he referred to his Arden for punctuation or jumps. I was amazed how easily the words came out of his mouth and how quickly. That was a purely technical aspect of his performance… having the lines down pat. But what was going on behind the lines seemed scattershot. When we got to the “To be or not to be” speech, I stopped him and, with some trepidation, asked if I could ask him a question about this. I expressed my deep respect for his work and then suggested that perhaps externalizing some of what ‘Hamlet’ was feeling at that moment might be a route to go, especially in this “aria” that everyone was waiting to hear. He reiterated the fact that he felt trapped by the blocking. I insisted that I didn’t want to cross any directorial boundaries but he said “No man, I need to hear this stuff. I’ve not gotten any direction on that and I need the input.” We talked for the next two hours.

I’m no great Shakespearian scholar, but just based on ‘Hamlet’s’ words and what I saw Keanu experiencing, I dared to talk about what was happening “in the moment” and the “why” of what he was saying. In the final scenes where everyone is dead or dying around him, Shakespeare has taken us to the brink of ‘Hamlet’s’ understanding of his place in the world, albeit much too late; and tragically, as he is about to die, he is unable to apply any of that newly found clarity and understanding to his life. I suggested that he (Keanu) backtrack this through-line to find places where those incremental discoveries could become “actionable”, moments when he could physically externalize those “a-ha” thoughts. He seemed to respond to this suggestion. Since his infrastructure was well in place, making small emotional adjustments along the way to accommodate this approach might move him forward with greater intention and flesh out the dynamics of his performance. I looked forward to seeing how it would “play out” in the time ahead.

The great thing about those three hours was that I saw a bit of the real Keanu Reeves. The more he talked, the more he relaxed. The more he relaxed, the more the walls came down. At one point, he delivered one of ‘Hamlet’s’ speeches as ‘Siddartha’ in “Little Buddha” using the light, slightly sing-song-y guttural East Indian accent he had affected for the character in the film and we laughed and laughed. The evening was a joyful and rewarding experience and ultimately produced some astonishing results over the course of the run.

The contrast between performing in Shakespeare’s “Hamlet” in the evenings and rehearsing local playwright Brian Drader’s new play, “The Fruit Machine”, during the day was stark. “The Fruit Machine” is a play about the RCMP’s 1960’s effort to identify gay people who, they thought, might be blackmailed while working in the Canadian Civil Service. I was playing “The Psychologist”. It was being directed by the generous and laid back Anne Hodges and I was, once again, back on the boards with Arne McPherson and Gene Pyrz. It’s a dark piece but with much to latch on to. Brian’s work is current and very accessible but we began, alas, with three days of dreaded table work, truncated, thankfully, by the fact that Gene and I had to leave early for “Hamlet” matinees; which is not to diminish the joy of rehearsing a very good play with a great director. It was just that, as usual, all the talking seemed to get in the way … but again, that’s just me.  The play was scheduled to premiere as “Hamlet” was winding down.

Back at MTC, we moved along. There were sublime performances and some not so much. Stationed at my little perch, I made mental notes, but mostly enjoyed watching Keanu work. Robbie and I would talk in the car agreeing that, if nothing else, watching him work was an education in what could be accomplished on stage by sheer stick-to-itiveness and pure gumption! I was constantly amazed at his bravery. Actors have a tendency to “freeze” a performance after opening. The director has signed off on the show and the other actors are depending on one doing certain things in certain ways. Not Keanu! He was still exploring. To make changes and plumb new depths on the fly with a role like “Hamlet” is simply courageous. Actors would approach me every night at my perch. Louisa Martin would ask me what “the verdict” was so she could prepare herself for her scenes with him. Sometimes I’d say “he seems off tonight” or “he’s sad tonight” or “he’s playing it very young and vulnerable” to which she’d respond “uh-oh” or “great” or “heaven help me”. It was the same thing with Liisa Repo-Martell playing ‘Ophelia’ wondering how aggressive ‘Hamlet’ was going to be in their scene together. Roger Honeywell and Richard Hughes playing ‘Rosencrantz’ and ‘Guildenstern’ had a hard job. Keanu would move about in the soliloquy prior to their entrance and never end up in the same place from night to night. They would sidle up to me and ask me where he was. From my position I could see most of the stage except for down stage left and would give them a clue as to his whereabouts. One night I told them I had no idea where he was. They entered calling “My Lord? My Lord?” searching for a good fifteen seconds before discovering him curled up under a staircase. The scene proceeded once he was extricated.

To watch him go for something new each night was very exciting. He kept everyone slightly on edge which resulted in spontaneity and electricity at each performance. At his insistence, I continued to offer little suggestions and watched as he’d incorporate them into the role. At one point, I suggested that rather than start with the words in the “Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt” speech, it might be an idea to start with a physical action, drawing the audience in to him visually. Rather than planting himself down center and striking a “pose” to “deliver” the speech, what would happen if he slowly moved upstage toward the throne, looking at his hands as he went, bringing them up close to his face, investigating them like he was stoned, then begin to speak in response to what he was experiencing totally in the moment. I sat in my little spot, shaking my head in amazement as I watched him do it.

As a run goes on, the production evolves. Small moments, neither seen nor generally heard by the audience, develop and become a subtle part of the action giving ambience to a scene. Relationships become relied upon to propel one from one beat to the next. Robbie and I found ourselves next to one another in the final moments of the play. It should be noted that one of our production’s elements that received major mention from all the critics was the fight scene at the end of the play. It was very intense and very real! B.H. Barry’s choreography contained some wonderfully sophisticated swordplay and a lot of visual surprises. Andrew (Akman) and Keanu had honed their considerable skills to a fine degree and their disciplined abandon was on display at every show. The fight goes on for a very long time with fits and starts to allow for confessions and surprising discoveries to be voiced. Everyone is on stage waiting to see who bests who. ‘Gertrude’ is lying dead from drinking poison; ‘Claudius’ has been run through by ‘Hamlet’ and ‘Laertes’, with his poisoned sword, and ‘Hamlet’, lost in their fury, go at each other. In one fierce exchange, both lose their weapons and end up picking up the other’s sword. ‘Hamlet’ now has the poisoned sword. The rest of us are watching as they circle each other. At one performance, Keanu, backing up and readying himself for another attack, came into the area where Robbie and I were standing. He pulled his sword back to strike at ‘Laertes’ and as he did so, happened to swipe the tip of the sword across my leg. I recoiled in surprise because it was obvious he’d done it and I couldn’t hide the fact. The action and the focus of the audience very quickly moved away from our side of the stage.

In horror I turned to Robbie. “He hit me!’ I whispered, still in the energy of the moment. Robbie commiserated in the spirit of our exchange and we returned our attention to the fight. Sometimes, things come over you that you know you probably shouldn’t respond to but you can’t help yourself. In this case I was about to create a paradox between the world of the “real” and the world of the “play”. A moment went by. I put my hand on Robbie’s shoulder and, in character with my other hand on my stomach, whispered “I don’t feel so good”. Robbie looked at me quickly realizing we were crossing a line, his eyes got wide and he lost it. He had to turn upstage. I was already facing upstage but I kept the conceit going.

Robbie was immediately jolted away from me in the movement of the crowd to the other side of the stage. I stayed where I was. More of the fight went by but I was going to go for one more exchange in our game. I managed to catch his eye and, as I did, I put my hand to my stomach once more and bent over slightly as if I was in pain. Robbie lost it again. I was done and felt pretty proud of myself. No one else saw it or referred to it. It’s an episode to which we still refer … and we still laugh!

One of the most amazing parts of this experience had little to do with me … or anyone else in the cast except Keanu. As time went on, and as was expected, we became aware of the growing number of fans waiting at the stage door following each evening’s performance. It had happened during the student matinees but not during the run matinees. No one left the building between shows on Wednesdays and Saturdays, there being so little break time. In fact, the rigours of the production for Keanu were so great that management had made oxygen tanks available for The Lad just in case he needed to clear his head and replenish himself. He was always fine after the evening show knowing that he wouldn’t have to do it again. But he also knew that he was about to be besieged once he got outside. It was a frenzy! They were lined up down the block. After the run’s first week, the theatre reset the little security guard desk and he would sit there and sign his name to programs, posters, books and video tapes until everyone had been satisfied. Some nights he was there till one or two in the morning. We would ask him if he wanted to come out with us but he would always smile wistfully and say that he needed to pay attention to the folks waiting for him at the door. With folks having come from so far away and having purchased multiple subscriptions to see him night after night, he felt a responsibility to make himself available to them. Among the masses was a pair of young women who had come from Japan. They had each bought eight subscriptions packages and we became friends with them. Night after night they’d be at the front of the line and after getting Keanu’s signature yet once again, would talk with us in their broken English, bowing and laughing and obviously enjoying their experience. Their names were Yumi and Keiko and the photo here shows Roger Honeywell and me with Yumi. They loved all the attention we shed upon them. Word had gotten out about this late-night-signing-phenomenon and the press covered the event a couple of times.

My days were exhausting what with Samwork, rehearsing the other show and doing “Hamlet” at night. I would flop into bed at end of the day and sleep the sleep of the dead.

Then one night, I had a dream.