I never really understood the title of Timberlake Wertenbaker’s play “Our Country’s Good”. Did it mean that our country is a “good” country” Did it mean for the “good” (benefit) of our country? Or did it mean the “good” people of our country? It was like looking at one of those ambiguous double-image pictures … you see it one way until you see it another. And perhaps that was the playwright’s intent. This sprawling episodic play, which takes place in an Australian penal colony in the 1780’s, is partially about perception and, for me, was an adventure in control and upheaval. As a diversion, the Officers and Convicts of the colony are putting on a play (“The Recruiting Officer” by Farquhar). It was Wertenbaker’s aim to show “the redemptive power of theatre”. Prior to starting the read-through of our play, dear Anne Hodges, our director, decided it would be a good idea to read the full Farquhar piece just to get an idea of what the characters as “actors” were dealing with. It might have been a hit in the 18th century, but we could only manage to get through the first two scenes before threatening rehearsal hall mayhem, mainly because we wanted to start working on our play. Nothing redemptive going on there!
In “OCG” I had two roles. One was a character named ‘Jemmy Campbell’, an older Captain in the Royal Marines who’s best-by date was well past. He’s an incoherent drunk, lost in his own world, who makes “noises” and mumbles away in the background. Time to eat a little scenery, be some comic relief and, needless to say, I rose to the occasion at every opportunity … at least to begin with! My other character, ‘Midshipman Harry Brewer’, was a man on the edge of sanity who has been ordered to find a hangman to execute three convicts charged with stealing food. Initially I found myself taking refuge in ‘Jemmy’s’ antics if only out of self-preservation – ‘Harry’ was a bitch of a role to play! Because of the episodic nature of the play, the scenes were, for want of a better word, bitty, only short glimpses of action in various places. Character and emotional transitions were mind bending. At the end of one scene, I’d be staggering about drunk as ‘Jemmy’ and then, five seconds later, in a state of mental disintegration and seeing ghosts as ‘Harry’. Heading into the play we knew these switches were going to be difficult for all of us and ‘Harry’ frightened me. Badly!
Anne was gentle and generous to all of us, very sensitive as we slogged our way through this labyrinth. She was careful in her approach, trying to make sense of the emotional upheavals, like landmines scattered throughout our playing field, about to explode at any moment. Over the rehearsal period she and I had many conversations about where ‘Harry’s’ triggers were coming from, but we could come up with little for me to hold on to as an actor. It was this personal “nothing to hold on to” that seemed, amazingly, to give me something to hold on to. I relinquished the logic and found the “hook” for ‘Harry’ … but not without some terrifying moments.
In the midst of all this I was about to turn 50 and the plans for a party, suggested back in the summer by Rory Runnels as a Fundraiser for the Manitoba Association of Playwrights, were taking shape. Maggie Nagle, Robbie (Paterson) and several others were organizing it and had even produced a flyer advertising the “event”. To me it seemed to be going far beyond what Rory had initially suggested. The flyer hailed the evening as “a comedy and musical salute to Richard Hurst” and I was now to sing some of my favorite songs in the last part of the festivities. They had even coerced my Mother into coming out from Toronto and speaking. Other than that, I had no idea what they were up to. Robbie assured me that it was all being done “out of love” but what did this all bode?
By now “Romeo and Juliet” was winding down. We were into the few scheduled evening performances at the end of the run and finally playing to adults, a happy departure from the daytime experiences with the student audiences! On the last morning with the kids someone threw a stink bomb onto the stage during an early scene and the rest of that show was cancelled. That sort of summed up the run with kids – trying and seemingly not worth the effort. We had also started working sporadically on the third show of the season, Alan Ayckbourn’s “Mr. A’s Amazing Maze Plays”, another play for young people but much more accessible than “R&J”. It was the antithesis of “OCG” and so hard to get into. My mind was elsewhere.
Wertenbaker provides the actors with almost nothing in the form of backstories. Based only on what was being said in the moment, we had to create histories to somehow anchor the characters to this point in their lives. There was no doubt that the months-long trip from England to Australia had affected them. With no frames of reference, they were strangers in a strange land and ‘Harry’ was having a very hard time adjusting. The guilt he felt over the executions he’d ordered was preying on him. Combined with the jealousy he felt about a perceived relationship between his “girlfriend” ‘Duckling’ and another officer, he was coming apart. There were sporadic outbursts and rants that came out of nowhere in earlier scenes. But in a scene called “Harry Brewer Sees The Dead”, he confronts the executed men during a crazed four-minute monologue.
The mechanics of the scene were easy. Learn the lines, learn the blocking, and do the scene. But the complexity of arguing with “yourself” as three different characters was stupefying. It wasn’t so much in the delivery of the voices as it was in where the voices were coming from inside ‘Harry’. Making it real and not theatrical became all-consuming for me. We’d seen ‘Harry’s’ arc in his two previous scenes where he has somewhat managed to control himself, but these were only glimpses of where he was heading. The monologue scene is on a beach. He has been drinking heavily and the “appearance” of the “ghosts” takes him completely by surprise. Over the rehearsal period I would allow myself to move closer to an emotional precipice as I began suspending my own disbelief. The fact that I was safely among friends made it a bit easier to do, but it was scary. ‘Jemmy’ kept interrupting with his scenes and, in contrast to my initial response to him as a “safe harbour”, I now resented him and his nonsense as ‘Harry’ kept thrashing about in my head wanting to get out.
Should I give over? Should I take my own personal step into ‘Harry’s’ hell? I would lie awake at night wondering what it was like to “go crazy’, seducing myself to relinquish all control; but the fear of not knowing where that would take me always pulled me back and I would fall asleep, exhausted. With each rehearsal I got more and more comfortable with the mechanics until it all became second nature – externally. I didn’t have to think about the technique anymore and all the lines were secure. That was when I let ‘Harry’ in. Late in the process at a run-through, he took over, staggering into the scene. Alone on stage “we” could take all the time we needed. It began with a slight buzz just behind my eyes and a tightening in my shoulders. There was a vibration in the pit of my stomach. I sensed the first ghost before I saw it, to my left, a magnet pulling me toward him. I looked over and began talking in his voice as he looked back at me, hovering, telling me what it felt like to be hanged. Back and forth we went until the second ghost appeared to my right spewing his venom. Richard was now confused, but ‘Harry’ was defiant and defensive as he screamed at his accusers. Over and over again they attacked us and, pitifully, we would attempt to explain that executing them wasn’t our fault, that we were only following orders. It took forever to slowly pull ourselves out of this battle and ‘Harry’ began to call for help. “Duckling! Duckling!” he shouted. Her arrival on stage, a real person with eyes, pulled us back from the brink and, as the script demanded, we made love on the ground and the scene ended.
I couldn’t assimilate what had happened when I got off stage. I was waking up from a dream. Our twinning was like having two brains, one speaking the words, the other controlling the movements. There was one more scene for ‘Jemmy’ (damn him to hell!) before the final appearance of ‘Harry’. “The Science of Hanging” scene gives ‘Harry’ very little to say as he stands by watching Liz, a female convict, getting measured for the rope to be used in her hanging. Gene Pyrz was playing the executioner and talked constantly. ‘Harry’ is standing apart, visibly shaking as the craziness in his head continues to play out. I knew I could let go at this point because Gene would call me back “into” the scene by yelling “Mr. Brewer, she won’t stand up! Mr. Brewer!” I rush down to the girl, yank her to her feet screaming “Get up, you bitch!” and am once again overwhelmed by the voices which have forced their way out into the open in another three-way argument. Back and forth it goes, getting louder and louder as ‘Harry’ tries to beat them back. Then, he freezes, suddenly realizing that he’s gone blind. “I can’t see! I can’t see! I ….”, he screams. There was a “PING” in my head, like a violin string breaking, and a high ringing sound. ‘Harry’s’ eyes widen, he sways, his legs give out and he drops to the ground … dead!
It took all my strength to get up and off the stage in the black out. I could feel my heart beating very fast. I was done for the show and found a place to sit down until the curtain call. My mind was racing, assessing what had happened, and the only thing I could grab on to was how much I loved ‘Harry’. I calmed myself, wrapping my arms about my chest, bending over and taking deep breaths. How was I going to make that happen again!!
“Mr. A’s” had just started rehearsal as the “Richard Hurst Night” approached. At one point, Robbie had asked me what I wanted for my birthday and I had jokingly said “Keanu Reeves”. I found out later that he had taken me seriously! He had made dozens of phone calls and had even spoken to Keanu’s personal manager to make it happen. But Keanu was in Australia with his band (“Dogstar”) doing a warm-up for Bon Jovi. So, it wasn’t for Robbie’s lack of trying that Keanu wouldn’t be with us. Robbie had told me to be ready to be embarrassed by the outpouring of affection that was going to be put forward!
“Our Country’s Good” opened. This was really the first time the general public had seen The Acting Company. Everyone had managed to maintain although there was still some tension floating about. I don’t think that, at the outset, we realized how difficult a play this was, and our apprehension had been compounded by the fact that our three-week rehearsal period had been spread over seven weeks! Everyone had challenges in different ways, and it was mainly due to Anne’s calm and focus that we got it on stage. In one of the previews, I got lost in a scene with Arne and went up on a line. I simply got stuck and couldn’t extricate myself. ‘Harry’ hung over everything for me and wasn’t letting me breathe. That was the key – breathing, as Nancy Drake constantly reminded me – and, as it usually happens, I settled down and the show settled in. I actually missed the intensity of the rehearsals. My vow to “keep working at it” as we played evaporated in very short order. The luxury and fear of that experimentation was only a memory as the conditioning took over and allowed all of us to sail through what had once been incredibly difficult. And when I say “all of us” I mean ‘Harry’ too. He began to meld into my mechanics and even started using my technique and gradually, sadly almost, he receded into the distance. We never connected in the same way again, try though I might. I found myself on my own for the rest of the run.
They had changed the title on the marquee outside the Warehouse Theatre. “Our Country’s Good” had been changed to “Our Richard’s Good by Mainly Manitoba”! (“Mainly Manitoba” was the name of the monthly column I had written for years for the Equity Newsletter.) I’m sorry I never got a picture of that. The lobby was filled with about a hundred people when Teresa, my Mom and I walked in. It was all very festive, but I was a tad apprehensive and just a little embarrassed by all the attention. There had been all kinds of instructions we were to follow, specifically with regard to where we were to sit in the theatre. I quickly discovered that a spotlight had been focused on my seat which made me even more uncomfortable, but that quickly disappeared as the “show” started.
Robbie and Nancy (Drake) were the hosts for the evening, dressed identically in grey slacks and blue blazers, looking for all the world like TV newscast anchors. I had to stand and be introduced as the reason for this gathering. I think I knew almost everyone in the house, and I was humbled by the applause. Sharon Bajer started by singing a song about a sailor while handing me a cup of espresso. Then a very glamourous lady slowly came down the ramp onto the stage. She was dressed a la Marilyn Monroe, skintight dress, long blonde hair coming down the side of her face. As she got closer to the front of the stage, I could finally make out the person. It was Arne, who proceeded to sing a breathy and sexy “Happy Birthday” to me just as Marilyn had once sung it to President Kennedy! I just about had a convulsion. He actually looked pretty good and brought down the house! Chris Pearce was up next with some serious and extremely generous remarks about my fundraising efforts, Equity representation and my contributions to the Community. He asked me up onto the stage to receive a little token of esteem from my friends. I opened the wrapped present to discover a package of Depends! A small and not so subtle a reminder that I was moving on in years and shouldn’t get above myself! Even I laughed at that!
Darling Tracy Dahl’s glorious voice filled with room with a Gilbert and Sullivan aria from “Pirates” hearkening back to our long-ago Manitoba Opera touring days. Donna Fletcher sang “I Sing Opera”, a song I’d written for her some years back which I’d never seen her perform. I found out a bit later that Tracy had approached her wondering if she (Tracy) could get a copy of the music. Donna was not pleased about the request because I had written it “for her”. I stayed out of it.
The highlight of the evening for me was totally unexpected. Robbie was not a Barry Manilow fan by any means. I loved Barry Manilow. Robbie walked on stage to a familiar intro and began to sing “I Can’t Smile Without You” to me. My heart melted. He had been enduring Manilow’s voice on the tape deck in his car for weeks, getting all the inflections right and even making all the key modulations. I was done in by his historical sacrifice! Then Mom got up. It was supposed to have been a surprise, but Robbie had told me about it, so I was somewhat prepared … but not completely. It was surreal seeing my Mother standing on the stage where I was performing every night and delivering an incredibly touching speech about “my son” and his development as a human being and artist. She sounded so natural and intimate and loving. “And there were always flowers”, she said, talking about the fact that I sent a bouquet of gladioli to her to mark every special occasion and holiday. She talked about how she and my Dad would sneak up to my bedroom door when I was very young, open it just a crack and watch me “conducting” the symphony orchestra booming out from the record player speakers. Embarrassing, but true. For days after the event, people who’d been in attendance would come up to me and tell me how “cool” my Mother was. It was a deeply touching tribute, and I was so happy she’d been there.
It was my turn to do a few songs with the ever reliable Celoris (Miller) at the piano (she’d played for all the singers). I sang for about twenty minutes. Got choked up a bit during Maltby and Shire’s “If I Sing” because it was a memory of my Dad and seriously affected Mom. I ended with Sondheim’s “Anyone Can Whistle” which got Tracy crying because of more olden days memories. Altogether too many tears for such a night, but it was a grand and humbling event, and I was seriously affected by every minute of it!
Mom left the following day (I’d see her in a few weeks in Hawaii) and we were back to the grind. “Mr. A’s” was getting ready to go into tech. Tommy Anniko at CBC Radio had asked me to audition to host a new late-night classical music program called “That Time Of Night”. The Symphony was burgeoning with “Mr. Bartok” upcoming and the Edmonton Symphony wanted me for some concerts, but I had to block all that out and switch gears as the strangeness of ‘Mr. Passerby’ took over my life in “Mr. A’s Amazing Maze Plays”.
‘Mr. Passerby’ was an opera singer whose voice has been stolen by the evil ‘Mr. Accousticus’ and is now using a “second-hand voice” to communicate and sing. He was a minor-ish character with not a great deal to do but I made the most of it. The greatest part in all this was making the cast crack up as I experimented with different voices for the character. I settled on a pinched, back-of-the–throat sound, which was very tiring to maintain, but Stephen (Schipper, our Director) liked it, so it was a go. It was hell to sing with, however. Even though the guy has lost his voice he keeps trying to sing “Early One Morning” (his theme song) at every opportunity, a running gag, very silly and, I guess, funny. The complications arise as the young star of the show (our ‘Juliet’, Danielle Wilson) and her dog (Arne!) have to find ‘Mr. Passerby’s’ voice (and many other sounds that have been stolen by ‘Mr. A’) somewhere in his huge mansion.
The search is controlled by the audience which, at various points in the play, tells the actors which path to take. Naturally, there is no way to predict what the crowd is going to say so all possibilities (86 of them!!!) had to be dealt with in the rehearsals. The “amazing” part of it all was that nobody had a melt-down during the very stressful teching of the show. There are a lot of moving parts in this play, especially in the mansion with trap doors and secret passages, and a huge hot air balloon that has to transport a character off stage! There were no tempers, nobody let down and we all had fun. It was probably due to the fact that “OCG” had closed and we were “free” of the drama. Once into the run (a combination of daytime and evening shows) the reminder that the season was coming to an end for most of us was a bit sad. We’d been going non-stop since August and the experience had brought us closer as a pseudo-family, upsets and all. The adult and kid audiences rose to every possible occasion to noisily chime in when the Narrators asked them which way the characters were to go. With shrieks and laughter, they maintained their involvement at every show.
By now, I was combining nights off in the Theatre with nights on at Dalnavert doing the 9th year (I think) of “Christmas Carol’ readings and chomping at the bit to head out to Hawaii for the annual sojourn with Mom.