Just after the New Year “A Chorus Line” began rehearsals. My preparations had served me well in that I knew the show backward, forward and upside-down, and the vision had been discussed and re-discussed in great depth with the creative team. By the time I walked into the Rehearsal Hall I was tugging at the bit to get going. I decided I was going to take a page from Martha Henry’s first-day-of-rehearsal book. With the cast of 26 seated in a circle, I stood behind each one of them with my hands on their shoulders and introduced them and who they were playing. Aside from three of the out-of-towners, I’d worked with all of them before and could talk about them with some ease. There were a few laughs as I recounted a personal experience or two with some. It struck me at one point that folks were hanging on my every word to hear what I thought about them. It seemed to relax everyone including me and we headed into the “Director’s Comments” where I spoke of the show and what my intentions were.

            Toward the end of my speech, I flipped over a large computer-printed banner which I’d taped to the front of the Stage Manager’s table. It declared “No Acting Allowed!” Because the script was made up, in large part, of the actual words of the artists who had lived the experiences in the show, I wanted a reminder of that fact to always be in front of our cast. I needed them to find their connection to the words within themselves every step of the way. I wanted to believe that everything they said or sang was coming from somewhere deep down inside them and if I didn’t, I would call them on it. That physical “No Acting Allowed!” sign set the tone for the days ahead. I also told them that there was no audience. They weren’t “performing” for anyone. As ‘Zach’ says early on, “I want to know who you are”. They were in a safe and private bubble at the audition and on their own.

            No one had worked with Alex (Kirov), our Musical Director, before. He was new to Winnipeg, and this would be his first show in town. The Company fell in love with him as soon as we began the sing-through of the opening number – “God I Hope I Get It”. He was gentle, kind, patient and completely involving in his approach to learning the material. While I had met him socially a number of times, this was my first time watching him in action. Right away I knew that this would be a great experience! Then Bill (Robertson) began teaching the dance that goes with the song. The level of excitement was almost overwhelming. Everyone knew the iconic “da-da, da-dum-dum-dum” that starts the show and now, actually doing ‘Zach’s’ spoken instructions – “Again! Step-kick-kick-leap-kick-touch, again” … well, I could see the focus, the awareness and the electricity engulfing everyone in the room. We had begun!

            The fact that, like “42^nd Street”, this was another show about the biz and “them”, the Cast had another highly personal jump-off point. While not as experienced as the original “Chorus Line” performers, we quickly discovered the common elements in the various stories that they could relate to. Conversations in our rehearsals that arose around those elements were touching and hilarious and created their own pathways into the show. There was never any judgement. They found themselves committed to each other, supportive and, surprising to each of them as time went on, emotionally connected. I watched with a bit of envy knowing that they would get to do this material seven times a week.

Because of time constraints, scheduling and the episodic structure of the show, a lot of work was being done in isolation. While Bill and Alex would be doing dance numbers and songs in other spaces, I would be staging scenes and songs somewhere else. And because of that structure there was no need to get everyone together – everything could pretty well live by itself for a while. Predictably, at our first stumble-through everyone watched in amazement at what other folks had been working on for their solo numbers. The reactions were honest and true, and I told them that this was the way I wanted them to react during the show – as if they were hearing each other’s stories for the first time. There was one moment I was waiting for. It was the turning point in the show – ‘Paul’s’ Monologue. The role was being played by Robert Pili, a fine young local dancer who hadn’t a lot of acting experience but who exuded the vulnerable quality required for the character. He had worked by himself on this huge speech which lasts for about five minutes, an eternity on stage, wherein he tells the story of his parents finding out he’s gay. Then he and I spent a lot of time together before rehearsals began, breaking down the transitions and builds, easing him into the deeply emotional state that would take him through to the painful disclosure. It required a huge amount of focus. Now, at that first run, I could see Robert giving himself over to ‘Paul’s’ words and releasing his truth. The room was dead still. No one moved. I could feel the Cast falling into him, enfolding him, protecting him as he began to breakdown remembering the experience. It ends as ‘Paul’ dissolves, unable to talk anymore and not knowing what to do. ‘Zach’ moves to the stage and puts his arms around him. The Cast began to applaud and wipe tears away and I thought it was a good time to take a break. They surrounded him and reassured him and hugged him. Robert and I talked a bit later and told him to remember the feeling because the audience was going to go down that road with him at every performance. He was magnificent. I became consumed with how to give this deeply emotional scene another lift. It had to be with the lighting somehow. I kept thinking.

In the days that followed, there were a great many performance details which we dealt with, and I was over the moon as the Company latched on to refining elements of their characters and playing the reality. I was jolted into the mundane from time to time as the technical aspect of the show needed some attention. There was no set except for the all-important mirrors which were flown in for certain scenes. One day I was called to the stage to deal with a problem. Apparently the weight of the stage-wide glass mirrors was too great for the fly system to handle, and we would have to find another solution. As the problem was being explained to me I got the distinct impression that I was being blamed, that I’d wanted something that was causing the crew great frustration and it was all on me. To a certain degree it was. I stood there for a moment. Then I asked, “Why are you using glass mirrors?” “That’s what you wanted” the Crew Chief responded, again with a tinge of blame. Ken, our Producer, was also a part of the conversation and stepped in at that point saying, “Maybe we can mount them on dollies and push them on stage”. I waited another moment. “Or maybe we could just hang some Stretch Mylar frames and be done with it”. Stretch Mylar was a very sturdy mirror-like foil that weighed nothing at all. The only weight on the fly lines would come from the wooden frames. It was another case of my inner self shaking its head and wondering why these techies hadn’t thought of it themselves. They all looked at each other, nodded and smiled, and I went back to rehearsal.

Everything came together very quickly it seemed. The great Billy Williams was my lighting designer and up for just about anything. He loved experimenting with light. I had told him I wanted the lights to be another character in the show, responding to the emotional quality of the words and lyrics and dance steps. That got his juices flowing. Wanda Bretecher was my crackerjack Stage Manager and the three of us had gone through the entire show well in advance establishing where all the lighting changes would take place. We ended up with almost 250 cues which meant that Wanda would be talking continuously into her headset to the fly men and lighting operator. Because we’d done all this prep in advance, she could watch the final run-through in the rehearsal room knowing how she was going to call the show. Our transition to the stage was smooth as glass. The tech runs were spot on. It was during those runs that I came up with the solution for giving ‘Paul’s’ Monologue that extra lift I’d wanted and went to Billy. “How long can you do a cross-fade”, I asked him. “We can program the board for as long a fade as you want” he said. “Four-and-a-half minutes?” I asked. No problem. I told him to put the cue in and we’d try it at the next run on stage.

In the show, the kids auditioning are given a break and ‘Zack’ asks ‘Paul’ to stay on stage. There is a small exchange between them as ‘Zach’ asks why he had changed his name, a fact that has come out earlier in the interviews and which ‘Paul’ has resisted answering. But now, alone on stage, ‘Zach’ asks the question again. As ‘Paul’ starts to open up we began the cross-fade. Over the almost five minutes of the speech we went from a fully-lit stage to a single over-head spot illuminating him. The transition was imperceptible. Four-and-a-half minutes is a long time, and the speed of the fade allows the eyes to adjust involuntarily so the change isn’t noticeable until suddenly, with perhaps a blink, you realize that the stage is now black and there is only one light on ‘Paul’. The subliminal effect drew us in, focusing the audience’s emotional attention on the story being told. It also seemed to protect Robert, the actor, enveloping him in a safe space as he gives up his Truth. It was mesmerizing.

Billy’s lighting was a dream. The Orchestra was added and the Sitzprobe (a rehearsal where the cast is in chairs on stage, the Orchestra is in the pit and the show is sung through with no blocking or dancing) was stupendous, lifting the cast’s spirits (and mine) even higher than they already were. I had invited the musicians to the Piano Dress (just piano accompaniment) so they could sit in the house and see the show without having to play – something they rarely got to do. They were our first audience, and I got the confirmation that the lighting affect during ‘Paul’s’ Monologue worked. We could hear sniffles from the musicians … and every audience thereafter. The afternoon of the final dress, Alex and Bill and I were called up to the office. Because I’d told Ken that I would work with the team again in a heartbeat, the three of us were asked to put aside time to do “West Side Story” the following year. And that was that.

The Opening was SPECTACULAR!! I could feel myself shaking in my back-of-the-theatre aisle seat as all the lights faded to total black and the magical transition into this other world took place. It was like going to sleep and waking up in a dream. I sat there in utter amazement at the perfection I saw on the stage. The Cast was completely inside the moment. The stories they told, the songs they sang and the dances they danced took them, and us, deeper into the experience. There was no curtain call. That had been my plan from the start. After all, this hadn’t really happened … it was a collective dream that had drifted in and then out of existence. I had been nervous about telling them about the call, but they understood and, like me, didn’t want to break the spell with bows. Each night, as the final kick line of “One” is repeated over and over again and the light slowly fades away, the audiences began to applaud, understanding that the dream was fading and they weren’t going to see the performers again. It was more of the magic, and I would get goosebumps every time I saw it – which was a LOT!

As was always the case I was yanked back into the real world the day following the opening and back at my spreadsheets and payrolls – not that they’d stopped during rehearsals. I was also in the throes of building the new house and getting ready to move. That took organizing and a lot of time. I was also dealing with an odd response from Rainbow’s Board about doing these Winter Productions. Ken and I were amazed that they were thinking of doing away with them after only two productions, both of which had done great box office and had been so well received. This would be an on-going wrangle, but I was happy that he and I were of the same mind – that they had to stay.

Right after “ACL” closed, I headed down to Portland for the auditions for “La Cage Aux Folles”. Greg (Tamblyn), the Director, wanted me there so I could have some input into who would be playing opposite me. I headed into this adventure with a degree of trepidation. Being brought in to assess my potential co-star was not something I’d experienced before. It wouldn’t be a secret that my being there was not merely casual but crucial, Greg thought, to the casting. On one hand, I was flattered, but on the other I was uncomfortable with that kind of responsibility. Greg and I spent a few days hunkered down in his glorious new house overlooking downtown Portland going over his ideas for the characters. I’d studied the script in depth and realized that there was a great complexity in the relationship of the two main characters (’Georges’ and ‘Albin’), something that anchored the show in more than just songs and dance numbers. I was very nervous about choosing someone to share the upheavals these guys go through over the course of the story.

Greg and I headed to the Theatre for the auditions and to tell the truth, I was now having second thoughts about tackling this project. The night before I’d stayed awake thinking about how I was going to tell Greg that I’d changed my mind and didn’t want to do the show. Those thoughts were still in my head as I walked into the audition space. Greg had brought in three people for each of the major roles, but I quickly sized up the choices for ‘Georges’ in the course of the singing and the readings. Within seconds of hearing Rick Lewis I knew there was no contest. He sang like an angel, was a wonderful actor and a great looking guy. I decided that if Greg didn’t cast him I wasn’t going to do the show. Over the course of the audition Rick and I had only exchanged a few casual sentences as ourselves. After the audition session was over I walked outside for a smoke as Rick was leaving the Theatre. He turned around and said he thought I was going to be super in the role and hoped that I would have a great time doing it. I smiled at him. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you’re going to be around to see how good a time I have” and that was the extent of our conversation. The following day, Greg told him he had the role. I had sensed an instant connection between us as we did a couple of scenes, but was concerned that he might not be feeling the same way. As I found out later from Greg, Rick was thinking exactly the same thing about me! With that settled, my mind was totally put at ease about the whole venture, and I started to look forward to beginning rehearsals in just six weeks.

I had to quell my excitement however as I was now consumed with the completion of my new house. The move would happen only days before taking off for Portland and trying to organize everything in such a short time was exhausting. I’d been out to the job site almost daily and had watched it progress from a hole in the ground to a place with walls and doors and stucco. Meetings with the builders and contractors and lawyers and bankers went on and on. While the physical building sped forward, I was put through an experience called “Choosing My Colours”! This was an hours-long meeting with the builder’s “Finishings” Coordinator, an elderly lady who had obviously been doing this job for a very long time and who would brook no deviations from the décor parameters included in the Building Company’s costs. She took me through every detail having to do with “my” choices for the paint colours, the tile colours, the flooring, the appliances (which I’d built into the purchase price), the lighting fixtures, the plumbing fixtures etc., etc. I discovered very quickly that my tastes and hers were about as far apart as they could get from each other. The choices were so removed from my aesthetic sensibilities that I ended up getting pretty snarky with her as she kept insisting that the walls should be painted the off-white that “most people” chose or that the backsplash tiles should be white or beige or that the lighting fixtures should be plastic-chandelier-gaudy. I ended up rejecting all her choices and spending a whack of bucks up-grading everything in order to get what I wanted. I told her I’d arrange for all my wall colour choices and that the Company’s painters could do the priming. My own painter would to do the rest of the work. Dear friend Teresa would oversee the painting by her highly-recommended friend, Andre, while I was away. She knew my tastes down to the quarter-tint and I was relieved to finally get that out of my hair, although quality-control calls would be pretty regular while I was out-of-town.

I found time to fit in another set of auditions for Rainbow Stage’s 2001 Summer production of “Big”. I’d been cast as ‘MacMillan’ a while back and these “auditions” were, again, a formality. It was an easy role without too much responsibility and, if the movie was any indication, a lot of fun. I would get to do that great “playing-the-gigantic-piano-in-the-toy-store-with-your-feet” number and that made it a no-brainer to take the role.

One major detail I had to deal with was the communication factor of being away from the MSI Office … and in another country to boot. Thankfully, the Internet had evolved very quickly since my last job in the US, and I found I could be “on-line” with Access and an “Instant Messaging” program any time of the day. It would mean real-time connection with the Winnipeg Office without phone costs and allow me to carry on my downloads and uploads regarding payrolls, budgets and maintaining the musician database … all from my laptop. Sam was very happy that I had worked this out to all our benefits. Our work relationship had settled down quite a bit since the troubled LIVENT times a few months earlier. We both were again on full salary and the Company was back in frantic mode, which was how Sam liked it. A few nights before leaving town I’d gone to dinner at Alex and Mary’s (Kirov) home. In the course of conversation, Sam’s name came up. They mentioned that I probably was unaware of how much Sam thought of me. That caught me by surprise! Sam was not a terribly emotional person. I don’t remember us ever having hugged in the twelve years we’d been working together – not that that meant anything. I think he expressed his feelings and how grateful he was by giving me huge end-of-year bonuses. A few days later, he and I were in the car heading back from a meeting. In one of our usual long silences I said, “Perhaps I don’t say it often enough, but Thank You for all of this, your generosity, the opportunities you’ve given me.” He said “Well, thank YOU!”, which was as close as we were going to get to being “emotional” with each other. And that was it. I guess we actually did work extremely well and efficiently together. It was interesting how our relationship had settled in over the twelve years. The fact that acknowledging each other in that shorthanded way was about as deep as it was going to go. I was alright with that.

I was amazed at how fast the Immigration and Naturalization Services Visa came through. It had barely been two weeks since Greg’s lawyer had submitted the petition. There had been warnings of possible Spring flooding along the highway down to the States so, just to set my mind at ease, I drove down to Emerson a few days in advance of my entry date and physically picked up my documentation so there wouldn’t be any kind of hold up when I went through officially. Back home, I packed up my office in cases (there was more office equipment than clothes!), and on a bright Thursday morning at 6:00AM I hit the road.