The saga of casting “Miss Saigon” dragged on for what seemed like forever! Folks came and went, some said “yes” then said “no”, and I was getting more and more anxious! There was nothing to do but wait … and wait. As the summer came and went we managed to get the design team confirmed and that settled me down a little. The show is huge – physically, emotionally, musically … no matter how you look at it – and coming to grips with it conceptually kept me awake at nights. I knew it had to move along, like a film, segueing smoothly between the past and present, visually interesting but never taking focus from the story. After meetings with designer, Bob Ivey, we decided that building our own set rather than renting one would address my concerns. We came up with a system of huge bamboo screens on tracks at various depths on the stage which would allow me to create “dissolves” from one preset scene to the next. Some elements would fly, and cast members would move set pieces on and off as required. With the adventurous Billy Williams willing (and happy) to design some really off-the-wall lighting, I was feeling comfortable and getting excited about the possibilities. At least the minimalist look I had of the show had been shared with some very inventive and imaginative people. This could work!
We held a couple of sets of Ensemble auditions in the late summer that were encouraging. But while it seemed that there were women aplenty, the men, particularly tenors were once again in short supply. I needed folks who were musically adept and had big voices. There are points in the show that are vocally massive, operatic, and very demanding, and I knew it was going to be a monumental task to find 26 people to fill those ranks. The Filipino population in Winnipeg came out in force and there were some great voices, both men and women. We hired them right away. Many of them had done Ensemble work before in Rainbow shows so we seemed to be getting ahead of the game. But still there was a ways to go! Then there were the lead characters. I would sit at my desk, taking offence at each minute that ticked by without my ‘Kim”, my ‘Chris’, my ‘John’, my ‘Engineer’ in place. Finally, we landed on Trish Magsino for our ‘Kim’, the main character in the piece. Oddly, I had coached Trish 12 years earlier when she was putting together her audition for the first Toronto Production. Even after all that time, she still had the look and vocal chops for the role. It would be a heavy lift for both of us, but I was up for it. One down!
In short order, I put together the entertainment for the 50th Anniversary Gala together with stalwarts from the theatre Community – Debbie Maslowsky, Stacey Nattrass, Stephanie Sousa, Quyen Raceles, Nick Matthews, Chris Ryan, David Smeltzer, Tim Gledhill, with Celoris Miller as our MD. The format was straightforward – a chronology of Rainbow’s Greatest Hits with some patter weaving it all together – and as we rehearsed there was something soothingly organic about how it flowed out of the performers. The fact that they were enjoying each other and that all the very familiar musical numbers were second nature to them made for a no-pressure experience all around. Some simple staging and lighting, a small combo and everyone in formal wear gave the evening a classy feel. The show was well received and, a moment later, I was into “Beauty and the Beast”
We bonded quickly and promisingly right from the outset. It was again a case of knowing and enjoying each other, and with Robbie at the helm we were feeling secure and well-taken-care-of. However, there was one element of this production which, for almost everyone, caused some problems – the Costumes. While recreating the Walt Disney cartoon characters for the Stage, the designers of this particular set of rented costumes seem to have paid very little attention to the fact that human beings were going to have to wear them and move about in them. I felt sorry for the dancers who would have to dress up as knives and forks and whisks and dishes and dance up and down stairs on the set. However, I was nowhere near as sorry for them as I was, in very short order, for myself!
Early in rehearsal I had decided that I wanted to get used to ‘Cogsworth’s’ somewhat unspecific “Clock” costume. It comprised a large casement with a stationary pendulum, a large key which fit into a slot at the back, and was topped off with an ornate finial in the form of a “hat”. Surprisingly, there was no actual clock anywhere on this outfit, so I ended up gluing clock hands to the end of my nose each night to at least let folks know I was indeed a “Clock” (you can see the hands in this photo if you look closely). The box casement consisted of a complex inner structure of two by twos covered with half-inch plywood overlaid with a thick tapestry cloth and a cloth fringe around the bottom. The key to “wind me up” was also of plywood with painted canvas as was the “hat”. Altogether the ensemble weighed just under 40 lbs. There were holes on each side through which my arms could protrude, albeit with very limited movement. The whole arrangement was internally suspended on my shoulders with wide canvas straps.
The only way into the contraption was from the bottom. It either had to be lowered over my head by stage hands, or set on two chairs so I could get down on the floor and shimmy my way up into it. It was the latter access upon which we eventually settled because there were rarely folks about to help and I could set it up myself. The weight took some getting used to. I quickly discovered that getting the straps into a comfortable position on the outer part of my shoulders took some maneuvering because my arm limitations. The first few times I wore it during rehearsal were a novelty. I quickly found out how great a walking stride I could take as the front of the box kept smashing my shins and it would sway back and forth with each step. On rest breaks, I could lower myself into a sitting position on a chair with two more chairs on either side taking the weight of the box. My head was down inside the box and my arms up in the air resting on the arm holes. I felt like a huge turtle. People would walk by and look down through the head opening and ask me how I was doing or knock on the front of the box and run away laughing. I was a captive in my costume and could tell this was going to be the bane of my existence for the run of the show. That “bane” took a dark turn before we opened.
Early on, while waiting inside the box during my breaks, I noticed messages scrawled on the inner walls by, I assumed, previous ‘Cogsworth’ performers – “Courage!” “Suck it up!” “You’ll get through it!” “It’ll be over soon!” There were dozens of them, all signed and dated. This costume had been used for years! Supportive though the notations were, I began to get somewhat concerned about their subtexts … all hinting at impending doom!
The other “transformed” members of the cast (those of us who had become pieces of furniture or other objects … Brenda Gorlick as ‘Babette’, Debbie Maslowsky as ‘Madame de la Grande Bouche’, Donna Fletcher as ‘Mrs. Potts’, insanely funny Chris Sigurdson as ‘Lumiere’) were also confined by the costuming. Debbie was incarcerated in a huge ornate dresser. At one point she and I were in a freight elevator travelling up to the stage. My hat fell off and try though we might, neither of us could bend over to pick it up. When the doors opened at Stage level, the stage hands found us leaning against the elevator walls in hysterics, helplessly gesturing at my hat on the floor in front of us. The quality of the cast was evident as we progressed. Even though this was a cartoon fantasy, everyone took their roles very seriously. Kevin Aichele was magnificent as ‘The Beast’, Mairi Babb incredibly appealing as ‘Belle’ and Peter Huck was a truly authentic ‘Gaston’. The story was clear, wonderfully staged by Robbie and choreographed by Scott Peter (in his first “real” choreographer job) and we were excited to move up to the stage.
The set was a Pig, huge, ungainly, and presented problems from the outset, mainly because of the disorganized stage hands. For some reason, Rainbow shows at the Pantages Theatre, were not “first-choice” Crew Calls for the IATSE A-Listers – the best and most experienced guys in town. As a result, our tech rehearsals were a shambles. Cues were constantly missed, sets got stuck or missed their marks and the hands would just stand around staring at their printed cue sheets not knowing what to do! The fact that there was a different crew at almost every call didn’t help matters. The disorganization made us all nervous and ate away at our enthusiasm. Meanwhile, I was struggling. An old knee injury from years earlier (falling into an orchestra pit in Portland during a production of “How To Succeed”) was flaring back to life, exacerbated by the extra weight of the costume. The pain in my left knee got worse and worse and by the morning of Opening, I could barely stand up. I called Robbie and told him that we’d better get me to a doctor, or I wouldn’t be going on that evening. He immediately drove over, and we rushed to the hospital.
Robbie is very calm in crisis mode. In this case, all I could do was sit (literally) and watch. He jumped out of the car at the hospital, ran in, commandeered a wheelchair, whizzed it over to the car, helped me into it, spun me around and pushed me through the Emergency doors. If only to break tension, he also gets a wee bit theatrical in situations like this. “Coming through, coming through” he yelled at the top of his lungs with a Colonel-Mustard-in-the Waiting-Room-with-a-Wheelchair-like English accent, scattering people in our wake as we charged into the room filled with seated patients waiting to be seen. All heads turned. He careened the chair down an aisle to the front area where some interns and nurses were standing. “Do you know who this is?” he shouted, pointing at me in the wheelchair. “This is Richard Hurst and he’s opening in a show tonight! There’s something wrong with his leg and he needs attention right away”. All during this commotion I was trying to sink as deep into the wheelchair as possible, trying to be invisible and getting more and more embarrassed. Robbie was reveling in his performance! A doctor rushed over, conferred with us, took the wheelchair and steered me into an examination room.
Now away from the drama, I relaxed a little and explained the pain I was experiencing, telling the doctor what had happened with my knee years ago and what was happening now. Since there was no way I could take time off in order to rest it, and short of arthroscopic surgery, there was nothing to be done but get a knee brace. He also wrote a prescription for oxycodone which would relieve the pain and some of the inflammation. (It wasn’t until much later that medical authorities became aware of the addictiveness of this drug which eventually prompted a global health crisis. At this point (2004) everyone was in the dark about the dangers of this medication.)
We left the hospital, got the prescription filled at a nearby pharmacy and found the doctor-recommended medical supply store just a couple of blocks away. I limped into the shop with Robbie helping me and we explained to a very sympathetic clerk that this was Opening Night, and we needed some assistance right away. Within minutes I was pulling a flexible brace up my leg and over my knee. Somewhere above my head, a chorus of angels began to sing! I was in the middle of a miracle! The pain immediately and utterly disappeared, and for the first time in weeks I could stand and walk normally. I felt liberated, ready to run a marathon. The pain killers were starting to kick in, so Robbie dropped me off at home and I rested for the afternoon. It felt so good to be able to move properly again.
We were all up for the Opening and it went well. Amazingly, the set (and I) actually moved acceptably that night. But it never did settle in. With changing crews, there were mistakes constantly, but the cast maintained, and I actually ended up enjoying the experience now that my knee was on the mend. Chris made it fun with the crazy under-his-breath-ad-libs to me. I would be blown away every night standing in the wings listening to Kevin’s ‘Beast’ singing ‘If I Can’t Love Her’, drawn in by the beauty of his sound. He had to do ‘John’ in “Miss Saigon” for me! That’s all there was to it. And I redoubled my efforts to get the show completely cast before the end of the year.
Time was against us so, as I had done with “West Side Story”, I created charts breaking down every “Miss Saigon” Ensemble number, detailing what people would be singing what part at any particular point in the show. I also assigned all the non-Principal solo lines which pop up relentlessly throughout the score. Endless note plunking sessions would take up valuable time, so I mailed the package well in advance to everyone in the show, reminding them that this was a very Big Sing and “suggesting” that they get “very familiar” with their parts before rehearsals began. While Equity wouldn’t allow learning material to be mandated prior to a contract starting, everyone understood my subtext. I think I scared away a few of the men I’d approached in the “Beauty” Ensemble after they saw how much they were being asked to learn on their own, so I was back a bit closer to Square One than I wanted to be.
Right after “Beauty” closed, I headed off to New York to meet Bobby Martino. We had cast him based on a trusted agent’s recommendation, on a great reputation, and the fact that he had played ‘The Engineer’ in London and in professional productions around the world. I needed to find out if he and I were going to be on the same page. We met at the Hyatt where I was staying and hit it off right away. He was incredibly affable, maybe slightly deferential but very open and funny, with a bit of irreverence about him that appealed to me. We agreed that “The Engineer” is living moment to moment, by his wits, and that there is a desperation and dangerous edge about him. We talked over each other in our enthusiasm and confirmations, and I left our meeting feeling totally at ease, tugging at the bit to start working with him. There was, however, a niggling feeling that since he’d performed the role so many times there could be a bit of the “I-do-it-this-way” syndrome which might pop up somewhere along the way. It turned out that we would both be tested.
Disappointingly, dear Nick Matthew, my first choice for ‘Chris’, had opted for a much longer gig touring in another show, but he had suggested that I take a listen to a Toronto performer named Stephen Patterson for the role. Stephen had done ‘Marius’ in “Les Miz” on Broadway and after listening to a CD he sent me, I was sold, and he was signed. We pinned down “Joseph’s” Stacey Nattrass for ‘Ellen’, convinced Kevin Aichele to leave a Disney job in Los Angeles to be our ‘John’ and I was set … at long last, finally, set! I escaped to the Palm Springs desert to clear my head, hunkering down at a Hyatt for two weeks. It rained for 11 of the 13 days I was there! Not what I wanted; but in the course of those two weeks, I learned the show! And when I say “learned” I mean that by the time I left the un-desert-like damp, I could sing any part from any point in the score. With my headphones jammed in my ears and the score in my hands for every waking hour, I paced my hotel room or sat behind some plants in a corner of the hotel lobby or used the walking machine in the gym, viscerally absorbing the full-length recording of the show I had acquired. Each listening would present something new musically, little emotional nuances that underpinned the storyline, that gave dimension to each character’s journey and, at points, would reduce me to tears as I visualized the staging. Every page in my score was covered with jotted thoughts and observations, with slashes of yellow highlighting, reds arrows defining recurring themes and embedded orchestral emotions. I returned to Winnipeg anxious to get started.
The first day of rehearsals was incredibly exciting. The buzz in the Korol Studio was electric. I walked about greeting everyone, meeting the few out-of-town folks, welcoming back people with whom I’d just spent weeks in “Beauty”, and took a few minutes with Rick Fox, our Musical Director from Toronto, to chat about this big first step we were about to take. Since MSI was now contracting the orchestra and was responsible for hiring the Music Director as well, Sam could come up with no better choice than Rick. He’d worked for us a number of times back East and had proved to be very efficient, totally prepared and, above all, patient, wonderfully calm and encouraging. We had three days of music scheduled so we could approach it however he wanted. “Shall we start with some of the Ensemble music?”, he asked. I told him that, in theory, they all knew what parts they were singing and had, hopefully, learned all the music. “Let’s find out”, he said.
Shaking with anticipation I made some minimal remarks and introduced Rick. My heart was pounding as he got up in front of the group and told them that since he’d not met them before he wanted to hear what they sounded like. So did I … and the Principals who were sitting around the room. He took them through ten minutes of warm-ups, and they sounded pretty good. But that wasn’t a real test. The only way to find that out was to have them “jump into the deep end”, as Rick put it, and have them sing the ending of Thuy’s Death scene – “This Is The Hour”. The Ensemble comes in immediately after the gunshot as ‘Kim’ kills ‘Thuy’. It’s a short but complex and demanding sing, full bore at a double forte, starting off in unaccompanied, declarative unison. I held my breath. Rick gave the starting note then the downbeat. “This-is-the-ho-ur … this-is-our-land”. There were only 26 people in the group but the wall of sound they produced was unexpected. I think it surprised them too, this being the first time they’d ever sung together. I could feel them physically rise up a bit, everyone clenching their glutes and leaning into the emotional proclamation they were making. “We-found-the-po-wer … in-our-bro-ther’s- hand” … more unison, getting bigger and bigger and more secure, each person being vocally fed by the person next to them. “And-from-the-storm … pierced-with-light” … and I could feel them getting ready to break into two part harmony, all in their upper vocal ranges .. ‘fierce-and-white- the-Light-ning-came … a-bright-ning-flame-to-end-the-night”. Then three huge chords leading into a key change up a step and acappella … “One-man-to-heed-us” … I thought my head was going to pop off as the four part harmony bombarded the walls of the Studio … “each-girl-and-boy! One-voice-to-lead-us … in-a-song-of-joy” … five part harmony now … “This-is-the-ho-ur” … getting even louder and slowing down … “this-is-our” … the massive single-word-climax now, the two assigned sopranos hitting their high ‘C’s’ with utter clarity … “Land!!” … and held and held … and, when it seemed that the sound had filled the entire world … Rick’s cut off. Perfection!
The moment that followed was filled with complete astonishment at what had just happened. This once-only experience hung in the air for just a second and then, in an uncontrolled rush, release of held breath, as the room erupted in celebratory chatter and applause. I wanted to start cheering at the top of my lungs. It sounded like they had been singing this music together for years, so attuned to each other, so aware of the sound they were making. Every eye had been on Rick as he urged them upward, taking his hand cues. I watched him as he conducted, his head down, turned to the side, his eyes closed, assessing, breathing with the group.
In this noise that followed, I looked at him and he smiled and nodded. What a start! This bode well!