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The convergence of things continued, forcing me to focus in a way I’d rarely done before. While I’m pretty organized, having so much to take care of – and it wasn’t small stuff – was confounding me. Each project was demanding complete attention and I would lie in bed at night resisting encroaching sleep just to keep everything in order … at least in my head. Each morning I would hit the ground running, always with a to-do list, and would judge the success of each day by how many items I actually got to.

At the top of the list wasn’t anything I had to physically take care of. I just had to think. We were still a ways off from the start of Rainbow’s “Singin’ In The Rain” rehearsals, but already details were occupying a large part of my brain. And one detail in particular. For some unknown reason, Ken (Peter – our Producer) had decided we were going to use a combination of live and recorded music for the show. The Musical Director would conduct to a “click track”, a metronome “tick-tock” sound embedded in the recorded music which he heard through headphones he wore during the performance and from which there could be no deviation. I had my suspicions at to where the idea had come from, and it was soon confirmed that Ken had been convinced by a Board Member and the show’s Choral Director (a local music teacher) that his newly purchased computer program could produce music good enough to replace, or at least augment, the pit orchestra! There were indeed music sequencing programs being used by some of the MSI arrangers, but these were guys who had major careers using very high-end (and expensive) technology. At the same time, my MSI job had also taught me that “Live Music Is Best” (the AFofM’s slogan) so I had grave doubts about Rainbow’s plan. In fact, it turned out to be a colossal miscalculation on a number of levels. But for the moment, ‘thinking’ was all I could do about that part of the project.

“Lear” had continued extremely well with great houses. The matinees with high school kids astonished me with their complete attention to the piece. It was a fine production and another of which I had trouble letting go. The “Christmas Carol” CD launch at McNally Robinson’s Bookstore was a treat. Their coffee house area was filled with a lot of familiar faces, and I read the First Stave (chapter) live. We sold a load of “product” afterward and a few days later, the Dalnavert readings began. We were now up to 9 nights of performances, all of which had sold out in October. The CDs flew off the Museum Shop shelves every night and I mentally ka-chinged my way home after each show.

Then, the “Y2K Bug” seemed to take over every aspect of Life! The notion that, with the change-over to the year 2000, computers around the world would stop working and planes would fall from the sky, consumed the media … and us at MSI. Sam was anxious because we were now relying on computers for just about every aspect of our business. In a slightly panicked effort to combat the “crisis”, we decided to create a private network which would tie our various local contractors in Chicago, Toronto, Las Vegas and New York into a mainframe located in Winnipeg. All the guys would be able to link up and access anything on the home site at any time of day or night. It was actually advanced thinking at the time. We made plans to have our former go-to Trombone player Marc Donatelle, who was now working in computer programming and formatting, create the system, and then to bring in the reps to learn how to use it. In the meantime, “Swing” was, sadly, limping toward its end in Toronto, but Sam was committed to extending the production’s life. And life it had! In the year that followed, “Swing” was mounted in Washington, DC at the Kennedy Center, in Chicago, Dallas, Las Vegas, Baltimore, Minneapolis and on and on. From the ashes, Sam, with his usual perseverance and tenacity, made it rise again!

But I couldn’t focus on all that. “Singin’” rehearsals were about to start.

The Orchestra situation continued to bother me. Scott (Drewitz), our choreographer, also had concerns about this unconventional approach, especially for his dance rehearsals. While we had a rehearsal pianist in the room with us, tempo changes and cuts were being made on the fly, and without the “arranger” there watching and taking notes there was no way to insert these alterations to the recorded tracks. He was ensconced in his basement far away from the rehearsal hall creating the augmentation in a vacuum. Our trepidation grew.

The other element of pre-production that had worried me mightily was the creation of the “The Dueling Cavalier” and the other film sequences that are played on-screen during the show. With so little rehearsal time, the intricacies of making the movies had to be well in hand in advance so that no unnecessary time was wasted with camera set-ups and shots. Even though the sequences were very short, doing the actual filming was going to take a couple of days.

Certainly, the cast was ready. Our first days of rehearsal had been incredibly productive. The leads were more than I could have hoped for in their commitment and preparation. I’d not worked with Danny Austin before and was somewhat apprehensive because he had done the ‘Lockwood’ role that summer in Ontario. But it turned out that he was dying for direction he’d not received the last time ‘round, and our collaboration was wonderfully rewarding. Shannon (Phoenix) as ‘Kathy Selden’ was a delight, funny and hard-working. Mike Donald had an infectious energy, and our Winnipeg Stars were superb in some crucial character roles – stalwart Cliff Gardner as ‘R.F. Simpson’ and the effervescent Debbie Maslowsky as ‘Dora Bailey’. Jennifer Lyon was hilarious as ‘Lina Lamont’. It isn’t until well into the story that we discover her voice is a fingernails-on-chalkboard, high pitched noise, quite unsuitable for the new “talkies” now being made – the main plot point in the show. The first time I heard her speak in the ‘Lina’ voice, I was on the floor … as was the rest of the cast. When it came to listening to her sing with that voice … well, we all lost it! Singing slightly under pitch on purpose is very hard to do and she was nailing it. I was starting to feel a bit more confident.

I should have worn a beret, an argyle sweater vest and plus-fours for the directing of the film sequences. It was all so other worldly. The actors looked wonderful in powdered wigs and elegant costumes and had all their “lines” down. I had story-boarded all of the scenes, some of which were pretty complicated, but fortunately there were only a few people in each. Trying to frame shots was very foreign to me but we had a good crew from Global Television, and, despite interminable waits for set or lighting changes, we managed to get almost everything “in the can” in the allotted time. The other aspect that was bothering me was how the “film” was going to look. While the video was shot in colour, all the sequences had to be converted to that grainy black and white of the period look and I was anxious that they look like I wanted them to. That would take some time.

Even though I was very organized, I was painfully aware of how little time we had. Thankfully, while the filming was going on, Scott had been getting the big dance sequences set, and I would escape for a few minutes here and there so do some scene staging. Amazingly, we managed to do a stagger/work-through after six days and I was very happy at the amount we’d accomplished. Because of time constraints during rehearsals, I had only loosely sketched in some of the blocking for the Ensemble in a couple of the crowd scenes; so during the run I was on my feet side-coaching them as to where to focus and how they should be responding, trusting they would remember. The Ensemble always gets short shrift when it comes to providing details while staging a big scene. “We’ll fix it later” is usually the in-the-moment response on the part of a director under pressure, but I was determined to make them feel as comfortable as possible in the “sooner” rather than the “later”. Fortunately, they were attentive and responsive as I skulked about, whispering a small playable action into an ear or subtly adjusting a group of people to better inform a physical or visual relationship – things that wouldn’t really be noticeable to an audience but would help to define our “world” for them a bit more. Actually, that “not noticeable to an audience” thing isn’t quite true. It’s almost certain that at least one pair of eyes somewhere out in the house is on you! Maintaining focus when you’re playing background is very, very hard, but, having been there myself, I felt it was important to try to give the actors something to hold on to while standing there, to give a bit more depth to the Truth the watchers had hopefully bought into. We would quickly repeat a section for them, and it was confirmed that they understood.

Our Stage Manager, Katie East, was a brick during all of this. She must have been feeling the tremendous stress, but always managed to keep me calm by handling every situation that arose. There is nothing like a great Stage Manager … and I had one. The only problem that neither of us could handle was our Producer, Ken. While he was great at dealing with the multitude of details outside the stage environment, he had decided that, in order to save some money, he was going to take on the job of Production Manager himself! This is a very specialized role in the mounting of any show. It is this person who is responsible for every aspect of the physical mounting of the production. He’s in charge of all the technical elements (sets, costumes, lighting, stage crew, schedules, etc.) and makes sure that budgets are being adhered to and personnel are where they should be at any particular moment.

Katie was particularly affected by Ken taking over this job. She would send him the “Production Notes”, lists of urgent problems and concerns that had been generated from the previous day’s rehearsals and meetings with the various departments … but he would never read them! It drove her up the wall. I had my moments with him too. He would sit in my staging rehearsals and whisper in my ear about what he thought of a particular scene always starting his comment with “You know what you should do?” These remarks made no sense to me and were quickly becoming distractions I didn’t need. At one point during a break, I hauled him into a corner and let him know that he was just going to have to calm down and let me do my job. I was cajoling and semi-polite, and I think he got the point … at least, he stopped the whispering. I think he was getting somewhat overwhelmed by the additional duties he had taken on.

The set for the show was, well, for want of a better word, a PIG! It had been rented from Huron Country Playhouse in Ontario whose stage was much larger than ours. It had been unloaded into the backstage area of the Pantages Theatre and once in, it was discovered there was no room for people to move back there. None! It had been rearranged twice in order to create narrow pathways for actors and crew to maneuver, but there were so many people that it was next to impossible to get from up stage to down stage behind the scenes! It was Ken’s job to figure this out. And he couldn’t. I felt somewhat sorry for him actually. I could see he was flailing about and trying to be helpful, but he was out of his depth. Katie managed to sort it out a little, but it remained a problem, one that would be compounded shortly by the production’s move to Brandon for a week of performances.

And still there was the music. The Choral Director remained in his basement across town putting off the demands that he get his ass and music over to the Playhouse. He’d not been teaching the Ensemble their music either, but thankfully one of our rehearsal pianists had been taking care of that. Finally, one afternoon he brought some of his “product” to the theatre. We sat down in the house to listen to what he had been working on for all this time. I don’t “lose it” easily, but with the pressure mounting I finally broke and went ballistic when I heard what he had done. I had anticipated hearing something akin to the incredible orchestral sound my friend Olaf had produced electronically in his studio for “The Wave” workshops, or the classy sequenced augmentations that Dave Pierce, one of MSI’s MDs, had been using for the Calgary Stampede Grandstand shows. I wasn’t remotely ready for what was coming out of the speakers! It sounded like a calliope, like a little Hammond organ or cheap Wurlitzer keyboard. I wanted to punch him! I wanted to go for his throat! I was embarrassed for him as he stood there making excuses for his work. Ken admitted to the fact that doing the music this way had been a mistake. Because of this stupid “augmentation” plan, the live orchestra that had been hired was much smaller than what the show’s score called for. Now the move to Brandon was only a few days away. It was too late to turn back.

At least the “rain” worked!!! It was a small triumph in light of the defeats that had plagued us almost daily. The machinery had been hooked up by Huron Country’s Scene Shop Technician and our crew had assisted. We all held our breaths as the switch was turned on. It was magical as the water came pouring down creating the illusion that the stage was in the middle of a rainstorm. Ultimately, it worked at every performance, perfectly, utterly captivating the audiences, and at that moment, eased some of the “what-else-can-go-wrong” feelings that were surging through all of us.

The situation with the huge shabby set, which looked like it had been through a war, was rectified by the designer from Ontario, Bob Ivey. It was like playing with an immense jigsaw puzzle and if I heard “it’ll all work out by opening” one more time, I was going to kill somebody! Ken was the brunt of my frustration any number of times as I yelled that “this has got to get together”. I began cutting set elements from the show to ease the backstage mess and it helped a little, but there was no time to worry about it. The final tech rehearsals in Winnipeg were a shambles. While the cast was on top of it, the production details were still a huge source of concern and Brandon was upon us.

Everyone handled the Brandon move-in mayhem with understanding. Katie maintained her cool and inspired everyone, especially me, to plough through some dangerous set moving moments in the new space, keeping everything going forward. The stage crew was amateur and even though they had been brought in to watch the four Winnipeg tech rehearsals from the wings, they still managed to screw things up in one way or another. The local crew chief seemed to be of no use at all even though he’d actually run the show a couple of times in Winnipeg. In spite of it all, the Brandon “opening” went adequately if only because we had nothing to which to compare it. We had never had an audience before and no one knew what the “real thing” was. Scott and I sat beside each other in the back row, cringing and clutching each other’s arms, but we gradually relaxed when a cue went right, or a number looked good or the Orchestra (with a very frazzled Conductor coping with the click track) kept it together. Even the movies looked good after having been put through a conversion program to add the vintage film feel. A few Board members had come in from Winnipeg to see the opening and were, amazingly, suitably impressed. The cast was grand and, justifiably, pleased with themselves. But we were still in rehearsal. Some things had to be fixed, mostly technical in nature, and some timing and blocking things for the actors were addressed. By the time we returned to Winnipeg (thankfully minus that local running crew), the actors were old hands, both at doing the show and dodging moving sets.

The afternoon of the real Opening was fraught with technical crap. I finally left after an hour of watching the perpetual set struggles and yet another new crew trying to force things into places they weren’t supposed to go. My level of anxiety was the highest I could remember at an opening night. My stomach was in knots. The house was packed – with friends and “real” people – and I was shaking as I took my seat up in the balcony beside the Stage Management table where Katie was calling the show.

The show was like glass!! I was astonished! There is no other word for my reaction. The crew got every set change, the cast found every moment, the audience roared their approval after every number … and the rain was beautiful. By scene six I could see that everything was going to be alright, and I felt the tension drain out of my body. Katie said she could see me physically relaxing as the Act progressed. The first Act ends with the title song and, of course, the rain. The house went nuts. At intermission the noise in the Lobby was tumultuous. Everyone was laughing and talking in loud voices, and I felt people grabbing my arm and patting my shoulder as I walked through the crowd to the street for a smoke … and a breath of fresh air. The second Act was spectacular and at the end of it all, the audience rose as a single body and gave these incredible performers the acknowledgement they deserved.

Yes, the set did look shabby from time to time and yes, the orchestra sounded somewhat amateur because of the tinny computer sounds that could still be heard despite my insistence that the playback be turned down to the lowest level possible; and yes, the pace lagged a bit every now and then. But it was a good evening’s entertainment. I found myself smiling occasionally and even laughing out loud. Perhaps it was from relief or perhaps it was that good.

There are two images that stay in my mind from that production. One is of Danny (Austin) striking the iconic pose at the end of the title song, and the other was something very small a moment, for me, of theatre magic. It was the remarkable Jeff Kohut, one of the Ensemble members, playing the tiny role of ‘The Milkman’, dressed in a white uniform and hat and coming on stage with a milk bottle carrier, tap dancing his way from stage right to stage left during the “Good Morning” number. The look on his face was a mixture of utter joy to be where he was, to be doing what he was doing, and of his absolute commitment to doing it … so incredibly well. That moment filled my heart … and still does.

The day after we opened, I wrote in my Journal. “I’ve been paid my fee, and the script and score have been filed away with the other shows I’ve done. At points during the rehearsal, I kept reminding myself that I would be back in the spotlight this summer in a great role in what I was sure would be a great production (“42^nd Street”). That kept things in perspective for me at times when I was getting anxious. I don’t have to go through this again – at least not with Rainbow. And, if they ever do ask me to direct again (or if anyone ever asks me to direct again) I’ll have to think very carefully about my answer. I’ll ask a lot of questions about support staff and time frames. From the start of rehearsals to our first audience was exactly two weeks. That is too short a time to put on any show let alone a two-and-a-half-hour musical! Its insane and I will never do it again. But, never say never!”

And that turned out to be the case!