But the show must go on, as they say, so on we go'd. The first 1/2 hour was spent sorting out which costumes I wore in what scene. As much as we have gone through the costume fittings, having the actual costumes in the actual space can be very disorienting. Shirts and pants and hats and gloves and sunglasses - the one joy that I quickly gleaned from all this was I would not be alone. I will be sharing my dressing room with the immensely talented and wonderfully kind David MacDonald who will be playing Harry, so the two of us spent these first moments just sorting through our goods with our dresser Jim. Across the hall sat our Sam, my buddy John Dosset. He seemed a bit more settled, but since he had done the show a few years ago, he was already familiar with the inner workings of the Winter Garden and MM!
Once our first entrance costumes were settled on, we all headed to the house - the theater - for a quick meeting where we learned the events of the day, which included a sound check with the band for certain songs and a full run thru (with costumes, for the "newbies") followed by some notes from the director. The sound check started with sweet Alyse singing her opening anthem "I Have A Dream" and I must say, it was stunning. She has a beautiful voice, made all the better by one of the most amazing sound systems I've ever heard. Clear, precise - this is not your average "theater" sound system, this is a sound system made for a rock concert! I couldn't wait to hear more. As we went through the various songs I was thrilled to learn that one of mine, Take A Chance, was on the list. What a blast it was to stand on the stage, just Alison and I, singing through a bit of the song with a full orchestra, or in this case a 9 piece rock band. Awesome!
Then we got started on the run. I was eager to sit in the audience for bit and watch the first few scenes before I had to make my entrance. I sat house right in an aisle seat, soaking up the glorious sound and the vision of my fellow actors plodding their way through the first few moments of the show, abundant with lights and sets, when I suddenly heard a small commotion in the aisle behind me. I thought little of it since there was work being done with sound checks and various theater personnel running around. With a smile on my face I looked up to find a bespectacled, white bearded man look down at me and say, "I bet you're our Bill".
"Yes I am. My name is Patrick, actually, and I know who you are. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"I'm Bjorn", came his response. And standing directly behind "Bjorn" was "Benny".
Can you say ABBA?! It was Bjorn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson (Benny's on the left above, Bjorn on the right), the writers of our show and the founders of ABBA! I was shocked. We only spoke briefly, but what a thrill it was to have them there. Andy our Stage Manager stopped the run thru at that moment and called everyone to the stage. As whispers grew - "Why is he stopping the show? Did someone get hurt? What happened?" - he shocked everyone by introducing them to the rest of the cast. I'm not sure which was funnier, seeing Benny and Bjorn in the theater or seeing the look on some of the cast members faces when they found out they were there. I think one of the ensemble women almost fainted! In any event, they were very gracious and talked about how excited they were to see the show growing and changing again and they wished us all the best of luck. It felt as though a certain blessing from a certain God had suddenly been bestowed upon us. Now we could go forth and preach the Gospel according to ABBA. Hallelujah!
The show proceeded with gusto after that, everyone agog at their visit and excited with the possibilities. For my part, I found myself in a quandary nearly every time I stepped on stage. In my first scene, as the three possibles Dad's arrive, I walk on first and head directly down towards the edge of the stage without looking at my fellow actors. When we're all assembled, I turn to see, I mean really see, David and John for the first time in full costume and full lights, on the set, looking not like David and John but like "Harry" and "Sam". I felt like I was in another play, wondering who these men were, and what my next line was, and if they made the jacket that John was wearing (because I had never seen it before) in my size? Oh, wait, I'm in a play, I forgot?! And this kind of thing, this train of thought, this stream of consciousness continued throughout the performance. Different scene, different costume, different lights - same ecstatic, floating sensation. "Oh, there's the lovely Alison. I mean "Rosie". That's a nice looking outfit. What? Oh shit, she's talking to me and I'm supposed to say something back!? What? I have no idea. And who's that person with the sexy halter top? Singing? What singing?! Oh, it's a musical, I forgot." It's amazing that no one got hurt, that's all I can say.
No one, that is, except a bit of my ego. As the final moments of the show drew near, and my final exit from the wedding was over, I ran to the stage left dressing room where John and I don our "magic" spandex and the "real" show begins. As I stripped to the waist and then to my skivvies, prepping to slide into my skin tight spandex, Jim my dresser held up a rather skimpy piece of fabric.
"No, no. You have to lose the underpants and wear the belt".
The Belt?! What the hell was he talking about? And what he was holding up looked nothing like a belt.
"That's not a bel..." And it hit me! I remembered a discussion from long ago in a costume fitting far, far away (at Barbara Matera's) when the words "Dance Belt" were uttered. I had heard of the lore known as a "Dance Belt" (notice I pay it reverence by capitalizing each word) and thought it might be a quaint idea for a professional dancer, but certainly nothing I would have to worry myself about. Wrong. The show must go on, eh? I guess, so too, must the dance belt.
In the picture on the left you'll notice the"stylishly discreet" coverage of the frontal area. In the picture on the right you'll notice "floss". This is, without a doubt, the most uncomfortable, and nearly most painful, thing I have ever worn! I don't mind the snug fit up front, needed to cover any "religion" that might show through the spandex, but the dental floss in the back - come on, is that really necessary?! There's got to be a better way!
Apparently not, however, as I hiked up my dance belt - 45 years old, spent most of my adult life doing theater, (half of it "musical" theater) and I've never worn a frickin dance belt! - and slipped on the spandex. A lot had been added to the spandex since my first fitting, with solid glass sparkles and dangles and gussets and neckbands and wrist gauntlets adding at least 10 pounds to the costume. But I was a trooper, as they say, and I "worked it"!
The final piece of my "costume oeuvre" was the now famous, four inch heeled, custom made silver platform shoes. Inching these on proved easy, at first, as I slid my toes in, zipped up and prepared to stand. As my weight adjusted itself, however, I suddenly felt the tiny Asian concubine, feet bound, ready for service. I could barely walk, I was in so much pain! And I still had the final dance and song, "Waterloo" to get through. Does the show really have to go on? I guess so, I thought, as I traipsed out of the room, across the stage, and stormed the front, all the while singing as loud as I could to simply cover the yelps of pain I was feeling inside. Damn, the things we do for art!
Ecstasy is not the first word that comes to mind when describing this event, but it would be the most accurate. In spite of the shock of Benny and Bjorn showing up unexpectedly, the indignity of losing my Dance Belt virginity, the pain of my first official foot binding, this day was exquisite. This was the kind of day we live for in the theater. Action and excitement and thrill and self consciousness and insecurity, insecurity, INSECURITY! It's still and always why we do what we do, and I wouldn't change it for the world.
The dance belt just looks like a delicate version of a certain piece of hockey equipment. Pat - don't ever mix up the two -- the dance belt won't go over well in the locker room.
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