When the ‘2030 CE/Victor’ door closed (slammed shut, actually) another role had presented itself almost immediately. I was up to play Winnipeg Lawyer Harvey Pollack in a film which, at that point, was called “Sacrifice”. It was based on a book called “Cowboys and Indians” by Winnipeg Free Press columnist Gordon Sinclair about the murder of J.J. Harper. I had read for the role twice and been called back a third time, but had heard nothing. I thought that if I’d been called in so many times, there must be something there, but I’d given up hope despite pestering casting agent Jim Heber daily for updates. Then suddenly, he called back to tell me that I was now being considered for the role of Herb Stephen, Winnipeg Chief of Police at the time. This struck me as odd as I looked nothing like him … in fact, I looked nothing like Harvey Pollack either. But none of that seemed to matter. Norma Bailey was directing, and in this new audition we spent a lot of time going through Chief Stephen’s scenes. I didn’t know what she was looking for, and I don’t think she did either, but she was very focused, suggesting this and then that, coaxing me toward one approach then another. I left the audition somewhat confused and with little indication of how it went, but feeling that I might have given her what she asked of me. Again, I waited and waited. Jim had had little information each time I called until one day he called back telling me that he’d just received the Cast List and there was my name beside “Herb Stephen”.

            As had been the case with “2030CE”, I was quickly inundated by calls from Costuming, from the Production AD about scheduling – three full days – and various other folks about getting my hair cut and all the peripheral stuff.  They even made a request for some personal family photos to be used in “my office”! There was also a call from Norma herself asking if I had time to meet with her to discuss the character further. This was a total luxury, none of that “get it in the can” approach I’d experienced on other shoots. They were also scheduling time for me and Gary Chalk who was, ironically, playing ‘Ken Dowson’, a role I’d played years earlier in “Inquest” at PTE. Gary and I would get some time with Norma on the set the day before shooting. Everyone was so nice when they called to brief me on what was happening, very upbeat and friendly … which bode well … that kind of approach usually stems from the top.

            My time with Norma was very productive. While she understood my concern about not looking like the Chief, it didn’t seem to bother her. She was looking for a character trait more than anything – that of a man who appeared to be in control but was unable to maintain it against the onslaught which followed the murder – as was the case in real life. Our chats were based in the text, and it laid a foundation for me that I found easy to play – defensive in public and fundamentally at sea in private. There’s always a degree of trepidation, excitement and FEAR in the time leading up to the start of a shoot. Fortunately, we were at the very beginning of this one so not a lot of bonds had been formed, no cliques or circles that one had to work one’s way into … or ignore as the case may be. We were all at ground zero and no one was at a disadvantage. The scheduled meeting for my scenes with Gary was somewhat beneficial. He had done a lot of film and TV work and seemed a bit prone to not letting anyone forget it. But he managed to keep it in check … except when it wasn’t to his advantage to do so. There was a point when, during a rehearsal, I felt slightly put upon by both he and Norma for paying too much attention to the screenwriter’s directions. Acquiescing was my only option, and the shooting was great. Even though I was encouraged by Norma, I think my stage experience tended to get in the way from time to time. She would sidle up to me and whisper “Smaller”, “more relaxed”, “more intimate”, but I knew she was pleased when I got the thumbs up sign from behind the camera. In watching playbacks, I found myself feeling somewhat unsatisfied. Again I was reminded that film was an Editor’s game and I kept wondering which take would eventually make it into the finished product. I could see things that were better in one take than another, that my reactions and voice sometimes didn’t ring true to me. It was very frustrating, so I stopped watching them.

            The Chief’s Press Conference scene was difficult. It was a packed room. There were a lot of extras and techies and cameras, and it was very hot. There were a lot of camera and lighting set-ups for various angles that took forever. B. Pat Burns, who was playing Free Press Reporter Gordon Sinclair, and I had the main exchanges in the scene, but with all those camera switches, we stood around forever. As the day got longer, we would look at each other from across the room then at our watches and smile. Four hours overtime and, for me, a break infringement, and the bucks just kept piling up. By the time we’d finished, my face was caked with powder as the make-up team swirled around me trying to keep the sweat “glow” to a minimum for the close-ups. As I’ve noted before, it’s no wonder movies cost so much to make!

My last scene was in the Chief’s Office with Gary. We’d become quite comfortable, very relaxed, and enjoyed playing off each other. This was a quiet scene, me knocking a golf ball into a cup, he considering his life choices as he faced questioning at the trial. I could feel the intimacy between us despite the small room being crammed with crew and cameras. We spoke quietly, each of us tangled in personal and professional dilemmas out of which there seemed to be no exits. Eventually, the Chief would resign, and ‘Dowson’ would kill himself and the scene gave subtle hints at those paths. I was pleased with our work. After Norma yelled “Cut”, there was the usual release of breath on everyone’s part. Richard O’Brian-Moran, (the 1^st AD) yelled “And that’s another shoot wrap for Richard Hurst” and everyone applauded. Gary was surprised that this was all we had together in the film and seemed genuinely disappointed that we weren’t doing any more. In fact, I was too. I felt we were just getting into the swing of it. I was getting a bead on the character and understanding how Norma wanted to work. But it was done, and the title was added to the resume.

            In the late Summer, I’d been approached by a couple of United Church Ministers who wanted me to work with them on their “Pulpit Delivery” … at least that’s what they called it. They wanted to know how to get the most out of a sermon’s presentation. Certain aspects of going to church had always fallen into the “Busman’s Holiday” category for me. I was constantly aware of the theatricality of “church” and in particular of a preacher’s “performance” during a sermon. It fascinated me. In fact, there was a time I had thought about going into the ministry myself. I’d spent a summer between MTC seasons in Italy and had had some spiritual awakenings. Upon my return, I’d given a “talk” at my church on a Sunday morning about those discoveries and been totally overwhelmed by the euphoria I felt afterward. I talked to Ian McMillan, one of our two ministers, about those feelings and my contemplating a change in life direction. He diplomatically suggested that for someone involved in Theatre and the Arts, going into Seminary would be a “soul-deadening experience”. He thought that what I had experienced delivering that talk from the pulpit was a far cry from the dogmatic, academic approach I would have to go through in a formal theological setting. What I did on stage, he said, was a kind of ministry in and of itself.

While I usually assessed preachers in terms of their communication skills, there seemed to be another element that propelled them in their speaking, something spiritual, and that was attractive to me. Some were captivating performances, some not so much! Surprisingly, the old preachers were the best, especially the Brits. They were “at home”, comfortable in this environment both physically and emotionally. But nevertheless, it was still a “performance”. If you connected to your audience, your message was going to hit home. And that’s what these two ministers wanted me to look at – how better to achieve that connection.

My input was tentative at first until I realized they didn’t want me to talk about the theology (even though I had definite thoughts about that) but rather how to make it more accessible and “interesting”. Our Sanctuary sessions were fun. They weren’t “pushing” church at me at all and had acknowledge the fact that I was “lapsed”, as they put it. I was surprised by their irreverence at times and that was ground zero – no holds barred. We started working from the point of view of telling stories, creating some kind of personal framework on which to hang the biblical verse-of-the-week. We worked on some structural mechanics, but the telling of the result was where it got interesting. Our meetings turned into coaching sessions more than anything else – vocal dynamics, pauses and tempos, diction and phrasing while, at the same time, keeping it natural; and we also started to move out of the pulpit and onto the floor, a larger, less confined/defined space with more connection, with movement and physical involvement. The combination of these new techniques and their understanding of the text produced some wonderfully compelling fifteen or twenty-minute sermons. I began to think that Seminaries or theological institutions should have someone on-staff to specifically deal with the “performance of preaching” – someone to address the accessibility of the message. I certainly enjoyed those sessions.

Oddly enough, I’d been cast in a show that would coincide with these “Minister Sessions” and provide some thought-provoking insights into both the character I was to play and how religion infiltrated people’s lives for good and bad. “Footloose – The Musical” is based on the 1984 film of the same name. I’d seen it a couple of times, but it hadn’t really registered for me, mostly because the music was in the rock’n’roll genre and that just wasn’t my thing. But the part was tasty! I was playing ‘Shaw Moore’, a dogmatic, conservative preacher in a small present-day Texas town. Robbie (Paterson) was directing and well before rehearsals began we had, as in our past collaborations, met a number of times to discuss our thoughts about the role. I had taken a small vacation to Palm Springs just prior to starting rehearsals and managed to get myself off-book, so I felt pretty much in control right from the get-go on this one. With a great cast of friends – Jennifer Lyon, Jan Skene, Matt Kippen, Debbie Maslowsky, Jeff Kohut and Chris Sigurdson – we sailed through the three weeks of prep with no problems. Bill (Robertson’s) choreography kept the kids on point and Robbie’s considered and gentle guidance brought it all together. But there were things in my character that made me uncomfortable, and which kept dredging up long-ago inner conflicts.

There was a point back in the “old days” when I found myself in the same position during a production of “Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All For You” at MTC. During the play, my character has to nail a doll representing Jesus to a wooden cross. Because of built-in religious sensibilities, my stomach would churn at every performance when I had to hammer nails into the dolls soft plastic hands and feet. It was all I could do to get through that moment. Now, with the things I had to say and do as ‘Shaw’ in “Footloose”, well, it all came flooding back. The dogmatic and dictatorial ‘Reverend Moore’ was in a tremendous conflict. Years earlier, his son had been killed in a car accident while coming back from a dance party. Since then, he had decreed that dancing be outlawed in the town. Now, a young newcomer (‘Ren’, played by the wonderful Jamie McKnight from Toronto) was questioning why the kids in town weren’t allowed to dance and challenging the “unfair law”. ‘Shaw’s’ teenage daughter has been influenced by this boy and thus conflicts are set up all over the place. Trying to find a balance between the still-festering pain of his son’s death and now his daughter’s rebelliousness is pushing him to the edge. While the script dealt with all these elements neatly, playing them was a different matter altogether. ‘Shaw’ was always angry, always on the defensive, always lashing out, and while the tirades were easy enough to perform technically, the pain at the base of them is difficult to layer in. It isn’t until the end of the show, in the “eleven o’clock number” that he has a major catharsis in a huge song called “I Confess”. Of course, the positioning of that song didn’t help anything that came before it (i.e. most of the show) and the emotional vice in which I found myself leading up to that point was almost unbearable.

Years previous, I had told my friend Celoris Miller of an experience I’d had as a teenager in Montreal at a performance I’d attended of Handel’s oratorio “Israel In Egypt”. I was in the Montreal Opera Chorus at that time and was heavy into vocal music. Maureen Forrester was singing the Contralto arias and I found myself being incredibly affected by the beauty of her voice and the great emotion with which she sang. I discovered at intermission that I was sitting beside Maureen’s mother. We got to chatting and I asked her how her daughter managed to not cry while she was singing such beautiful music (yeah, I was very young). She said that it was the job of the performer to make the audience experience the emotions but to maintain a control over yourself while singing. It had stuck with me. Just before “I Confess”, ‘Shaw’s’ wife ‘Vi’ (Jan Skene) sings the reprise of a song called “Can You Find It In Your Heart” to ‘Shaw’. She has sung it to him earlier following a particularly bad argument with his daughter during which he ends up hitting her. The shame and grief that followed inside me were torture. By the time Jan, with her beautiful plaintive sound, sang it to me, the tears would just start flowing. There follows a tumultuous confrontation with ‘Ren’, and I’m left alone on stage. Now I have to sing “I Confess”. The imagery in the song is vivid and combined with the heart-rending music, it was all I could do not to fall apart. In fact, there were performances when the tears would start flowing and my voice would crack. Celoris called me on what I’d told her following a performance she’d seen. I had no excuse for my lack of control. It was very disconcerting and satisfying at the same time. I went through that struggle every night. Trying to “find” ‘Shaw’ was my on-going challenge.

Halfway through the run, Morgan arrived! That’s his picture to the left. While in Palm Springs, I decided to get a dog. There was a pet store across the street from my hotel and one of their sales incentives was to allow folks to sit in comfy chairs and have the dog of your choice brought to you to hold and, hopefully, fall in love with and buy! I went back to the store almost every day. Once back home, and remembering “Verdel”, the little Brussels Griffon in the movie “As Good As It Gets”, I got in touch with a Griff breeder in Calgary and on a cold Sunday evening in February he arrived at the Air Canada Cargo Terminal. The two macho freight handler guys at the Cargo counter dissolved into squealing little kids when tiny little Morgan shyly walked out of his travel kennel, and so did I. He was a life changer. Of course I was still doing the show and couldn’t leave this not-quite-three-month-old puppy by himself, so I brought him to the theatre. He was our off-stage entertainment for the rest of the run. He got socialized very quickly. Intermissions were particularly fun with him as he ran around yipping at everyone to chase him or give him snacks or to pick him up. He was the center of attention and taking photos with him was a nightly occurrence. He was so even-keeled, so easy-going and friendly. He slept in my dressing room while I was on stage but there were always people around to occupy him and keep him company if he got too noisy. He quickly became a Theatre Dog! “Where’s Morgan” would be the first thing people asked when I walked into a room, and we became synonymous with each other. He realized very quickly that I was his “safe space” and whenever he wanted to rest or to escape people’s hands, he would find me and stand or sit between my feet with a part of his body touching me. There was something very paternal that welled up in me every time that happened. We belonged to each other and would be together for the next 13 years!

The “Footloose” audiences grew into sold out nights. Folks would come backstage afterwards telling me how affected they had been by my being affected. Somewhere in there, there had to be a balance between being affected and staying in control, but that was a purely technical thing and much aside from my inner struggle with ‘Shaw’. Ken (Peter, our Producer) was over the moon about the ticket sales and Robbie was proud of how we’d maintained the energy and intentions in the show. I discovered much too far into the run that Jamie was the key for my transition point during our confrontation. If he was emotionally wrought enough, it forced me into ‘Shaw’s’ head and the memories of his son and what was missing in his life. As we became more and more comfortable with where we had to go, Jamie’s honesty deepened the scene. It was glorious to watch him go there and it affected me to my core. I love that kind of connection with another actor on stage. The run closed on a massive high and I waited for Ken to tell us what was next on the Rainbow docket. He would usually whine about not making enough money, but after this show he couldn’t. We let the dust settle.

I crammed in a few days of adjudicating the Musical Theatre Classes for the Winnipeg Music Festival. It had been a while since being in a room full of competitors like this – the energy, the fear, the talent, the fear … all coming together to remind me how much I loved … and feared … doing these classes, mostly based on some past experiences. Aside from the young performers, there were always the “aficionados”, that phalanx of parents, fans and voice teachers sitting in the back rows waiting to hear what I had to say about their children’s/student’s work. It was an interesting crowd and I loathed them. They’d silently pass judgement, more on me than the competitors, but I knew I was making good comments and, ultimately, making the right choice for the “winners” in the various categories. Following the entertainment at the final Gala Concert and before the awarding of the Trophies, I gave a small talk in which I insisted that no one ever settle for anything less total involvement in their preparation and that they stayed disciplined and focused on producing a quality performance. Their reward would come not from trophies but from the knowledge that they’d done their best work. As was always the case, it was hard to ignore the little political dramas that bubbled just below the surface.

The following morning I gave a workshop for the Musical Theatre singers. I reiterated what I’d said the night before and centered my coaching after each singer on what was going on in their heads, what were they thinking and feeling. I told them that if that was their foundation, the singing would come automatically. Yeah, a bit simplistic but I needed to make the connection between one and the other. Many of those teachers were in their same places and, as it turned out, had enjoyed the approach I’d taken. It had nothing to do with them as teachers but rather suggested of a route toward creating a fully realized performance. Having come off the “Footloose” experience just a few weeks earlier, the reminder of the importance of cementing one’s understanding of a character was still very fresh in my mind and I felt that it bore repeating in this educational environment. Perhaps the passion with which I passed along the information in those two hours might promote a clearer approach to the craft. I’ll never know, but at least I got it out there … and there were no complaints. It also served to prepare me for what was to come.

With hardly a breath, I was into the auditions for “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat”, a title which will be shortened to “Joseph” in the pages ahead.

Oh! My! God! The humanity! The humanity!