I arrive at Buxton early for this busiest of days, and make my way to The Opera House. Tony Smith is already ensconced in dressing room 1, and had arranged for John Carter (Cox) and I to share it with him for the remainder of the day. Lincoln are costuming C&B themselves, and my costume, such as it is, is already laid out for me. It consists of my own shoes, trousers and collarless shirt, and an overcoat, flat cap and filthy apron (remember, I'm a printer) previously supplied by Lincoln. I put my Trial Costume on one side for later.We have arranged with Andrew Nicklin, our M.D. to have a 10 am run-through including John, who has by now arrived. Only one problem - no piano (sound familiar?). Tony disappears to the Pavillion restaurant to ask whether we may rehearse in there (the restaurant doesn't start to get busy until after 11), but the manager is not accommodating. There's no other option but for Tony and I (John has a very gammy knee) to fetch the piano from the Pavillion, and bring it to The Opera House. This entails carrying the piano (and stand, and power lead, and operating instructions) up or down 44 steps. (I know this, I counted them myself) It weighs a ton, and we're both sweating by the time we manage to squeeze it into dressing room 1. An ideal start to a busy day? I think not!
It'a tight squeeze, to say the least, two costume racks, two armchairs, two upright chairs, an electric piano ( & stand & power lead etc.), a Musical Director, a bass, a baritone and a tenor, but we have a full run-through, which is invaluable.
Moving out to the stage, we find that the Cox & Box set in -process of being erected. Catastrophe! It's the wrong set! Absolutely everything is in the wrong place - doors, window, stove, everything. All our stage directions are useless! Tony goes into producer hair-tearing out mode for a moment, then goes into conference with the stage crew - it appears that it might be possible to re-arrange the flats and thus achieve the setting we have worked towards. An anxious few minutes ends when the set takes the shape we hoped it would. It will be alright, after all.
The dress rehearsals are to take place between 2 and 5 O'Clock. There are two set changes to do, as well as three sets of performers to arrange, so it will be a tight schedule.
To minimise set changes for the technical crew, the dress rehearsals are to take place in reverse order, i.e. Trial, C&B then finally The Zoo. The Trial rehearsal goes reasonably well, despite some initial confusion between our M.D., David Cound, and the stage crew. There's some room for improvement, but plenty to fill me with a reasonable amount of confidence for our performance later.
The Trial dress rehearsal over with, most of the Trial cast go into the auditorium to watch the next dress rehearsal, but as that's Cox & Box, there's no time for me to rest, as I need to change costumes fairly rapidly. Returning to dressing room 1, I notice, not without a pang of envy, that Tony and John look fresh and cool. Having said that, I wouldn't have today any other way, I love being this busy, and I am relishing the peculiar challenge of two different shows back to back. I'm conscious of the need to conserve energy, and also the voice, but I find it difficult to pipe down too much in rehearsals, I'd rather use them to gauge the balance between myself and the orchestra. This also means that your M.D. isn't left guessing as to how loud you'll be singing later when the curtain goes up.
The Cox & Box rehearsal is also fairly smooth, again one or two small glitches, but nothing significant. Just one slight worry for me, as John forgets to slam his door (which is my cue to wake from my slumbers). I hope he'll remember to do this later. The other potential problem is that due to the wrong set having been sent, the stove, which is downstage centre, is quite a bit nearer the chairs and tables than had been envisaged. Ths makes some of our moves somewhat tight, and on one occasion, I forget myself completely and move in front of the stove - outside the building, as it were! Tony undertakes to place the stove in front of the curtain, thus giving us more space, and hopefully alleviating any "Spiderman" antics on my part. We now clear the stage to allow the Pennine Players to dress rehearse their "Zoo". I have a room tonight at The Old Hall, and retire thither for a sandwich, a nap, and a shower. Thus refreshed, I make my way over to the Opera House at 7 pm. The Zoo is on first, and Cox & Box is anticipated to start at around 8.30 pm. As I dress, The Zoo begins, and everyone listening backstage via the relay is most impressed with the volume and the quality of the sound they are making. Reports filter back that it's a near full house, and most receptive too. With the invaluable assistance of Ian Hollamby (who helps most of the male Savoynetters with theirs) and Sam Silvers, I am made up for Cox &Box. The "look" is of a thirty-something journeman printer, and I am somewhat horrified, but generally pleased by the final effect.
Presently, the cast of The Zoo are trooping back to their dressing room, seemingly very pleased with their performance, which has been very warmly recieved by the audience. John, Tony and I move down to the stage area, and after we have exchanged "good luck"s with Andrew, he goes off to the pit, the house lights go down, the curtain goes up, and Sullivan's Overture begins. Tony and I watch from the wings as John wakes, realises he's nearly late for work, and gets dressed in a hurry, finishing his dressing on the final note of the overture. The action continues well, and John and Tony's antics are much appreciated by what is indeed a very warm audience. Presently it's ti me for my hot-headed entrance, and with the exception of a couple of minutes when I lie down onmy bed, I don't leave the stage again.
The whole thing runs very well - surprisingly well, given the fact that we've only had four rehearsals, and only one with our M.D. (The word Andrew uses to describe it later is "tight". Upon reflection, I think this is most apposite. For my own part, I'm fairly pleased. There were one or two notes which as I hit them, I think "yeuch"( and, sure enough, watching the video later, I cringe), but the dialogue goes well, and on the whole, I'm satisfied with my performance, and pleased to have been part of what is generally considered to have been a successful production.
Tony and John now begin to climb down from that high that performing gives you, but I only have twenty minutes until the curtain goes up on Trial in which to remove one lot of make-up, apply another, calm down a bit, try and cool off and change costumes. This accomplished (once again with thanks to Messrs. Hollamby and Silvers), in no time at all we are lining up ready for the downbeat of Trial. Jamming my (very) tightly-fitting bowler hat on my head and taking up my cane, I make my way on to the stage for "Is this the court of the exchequer?". Surprisingly, there are no cries from the audience of "Crikey! Not him again" (at least none that are audible), and I get on with my first song. Despite another cringeworthy (to me at least) note towards the end, the song goes well, and I take my seat for the next 15 minutes or so of action, taking refuge behind my newspaper.
I had expected to feel a little tired by this point, but I feel fine. A little warm, maybe, but otherwise fine.
Presently, the jurymen are on their feet yet again, yelling "Monster! Dread our fury!", and I jump to my feet to make my plea ("Oh gentlemen, listen" etc...) I am conspicuously ignored by all 12 jurymen who produce, as if by magic, computer magazines with which to ignore me. I therefore direct most of my plea to the fragrant bridesmaids, whom I find to be altogether much more receptive, and the attractive though unruly ladies of the public gallery. Events move on apace, our Judge decides to take Angelina for himself, leaving me to my own devices, and free from any damages and presently we are lining up for curtain calls, the audience's warm applause and appreciation washing over us. The curtain falls for the last ti e that evening, and we have an anxious wait for Miss Beryl Dixon, festival adjudicator, to emerge. She is ushered past us by Neil Smith and disappears in front of the curtain to tell the audiencre what she thought of us all. She is most complimentary about The Zoo and Cox & Box, and then she turns to Trial. Confessing that the internet is to her a sealed book, she profeses her amazement that so polished a performance has been mounted by a company that only came together three days ago. Auntie Beryl's comments over with, we retire to our dressing rooms to remove costumes and make-up (once more!), and re-convene shortly in The Pavillion Lounge for a drink and our cabaret.
(Reflective moment - If I am to be honest, I did detect some signs of tiredness in me and more particuarly my voice during Trial. I suppose this is not altogether considering the fact that I have had 11 rehearsals or performances in the past five days. This makes events of Saturday 15th all the more surprising to me, but no less welcome - you'll have to wait until part IX of this diary to find out what I mean!)
There is a good audience (in terms of spirit and numbers - I can't speak for their morals) for the cabaret. Our cabaret, which is a good mix, methinks, is well received, and upon its conclusion, though the hour be late, a "Pot Luck" Patience begins, featuring several of the Trial cast. most notably Bronwen Evans (Bridesmaid) as Patience, and Bob Richards (Foreman) as Bunthorne. The impromptu men's chorus (again featuring most of the "Trial" cast and also by now Marc Shepherd) takes to the small stage at every opportunity, which makes for a very tight squeeze for the Act 1 finale, but some very good noises are made, and there is still quite a respectable audience at the conclusion of Patience.
I must confess at this point that I don't know at what hour this all finished and I made my way to The Old Hall and to bed, but please bear in mind that I had lost a lot of fluid during the evening, and had been busily replenishing it with the aid of Messrs. Carling (Black Label) and Foster (Amber Nectar) since our arrival in the Lounge.
I crash out in my room with random thoughts of what has been an extremely busy but tremendously enjoyable and rewarding day. Tomorrow will be a rest day for me, as I need to turn my attention to the auditions for the Festival production of Ruddigore, which take place on Saturday afternoon.
| Nick Sales |