Actor's Nightmare

It has been over twenty years since I last set foot on the stage, but in all that time, I am still cursed with the Actor’s Nightmare.  It goes with the territory along with the curse of Lady Macbeth and a few others I learned along the way. You can choose to believe some or even all of this story, it is totally up to you, but for me this story is the reason why I gave up my love of theater and I would encourage you to do the same.

“Ah, the roar of the grease paint, the smell of the crowd.” Jason thought he was being funny, but the sad truth is, he just did not have the knack for humor.  He was an apt actor, but if there was humor in his lines, the humor usually fell flat.

“Oh Jason, you are a scream.” His girlfriend Mae waved him off as if he just a show-stopper.  She would laugh at anything he said since that was basically her role.  She was a Type-A person who always managed the stage, because that’s where her real talent was.  She tried getting on stage one time in a bit part, but screwed it up so bad, she would never try that again.  

My talent was playing the male lead which I was going to do for Streetcar Named Desire, a play written by Tennessee Williams where I would play Stanley Kowalski just like Marlon Brando did in the movies with Vivian Leigh as Blanche DuBois.  While I had most of my lines down cold, Marcie Wallenberg who did not resemble Blanche in any way, was busy cramming for dress rehearsal which was in just three days.  She made me nervous to say the least.

“Hey Marcie.” I decided to take the temperature of our female lead.

“Oh hey Eric.” She did not even look up from her script.

“How’s it going?” I asked, putting my hand on the wall next to where she was seated.

“I am really trying to remember all my lines.” She shook her head.

“You do have a lot.” I observed.

“Are we going to kiss?  Like it says right here?” She pointed.

“We are supposed to do more than kiss, but yes…” I did not want to let her know that this was the rape scene she was pointing to when Stanley has just left Stella in the hospital to have their baby and suddenly Stanley is all alone with her sister Blanche. He is aware of Blanche’s reputation and decides to take matters into his own hands.  Marcie blushed which is something Blanche would never do, at least the way Williams had written her character.  

Greg Saunders was playing Mitch and I decided to go see how he was doing.  Of all the people in our small repertoire company, Greg was the person I was closest to.

“Eric, how’s it going?” He slapped me on the shoulder and gave me a wide smile.

“I am doing great.” I slapped him back.

“I wish I could say that about Marcie.” He shook his head. “I hear she has been rehearsing almost every night for hours and she still can’t remember her lines.”

That night I had the actor’s nightmare for the first time.  It goes like this…

I am up on stage, I see the audience seated at my feet as the footlights come on in a blaze of blinding light.  There is silence.  Silence is not an actor’s ally and I look at someone dressed as a wizard of some kind and then he looks at me as if to say, “It’s your line, duffus.”  No it’s not.  It’s not my line.  It can’t be.  I hear a voice from the wings, “Eric, we are doing King Lear.”  That can’t be right.  It’s not the play I rehearsed.  It’s not the play I have learned. I stand there in stunned silence, like a statue.  I have no idea what to do next...

“Eric, are you alright?” It’s my younger brother Dale whom I share a room with.  He is shaking me awake.

“Whaa?” I am no longer on stage.  The audience has vanished which is a relief since I had no idea what my line was anyway.  

“You were talking in your sleep.” His face is set for constant sorrow and it’s hard for me to tell if he is melancholy or he’s really alright.

“Sorry.” I apologize.

“S’oh-kay.” He shrugs and gets back into his bed.  Before I can say another word, he is asleep. 

The next rehearsal, I told Greg about my dream.

“Wow, that’s creepy.” Is his only reaction after I tell him.  I can see he’s more concerned about Marcie.  She flubbed a lot of the key lines in the scene between them.  Two days and she is still muffing the lines of one of the most moving and tender love scenes in theater. 

The rape scene was even more awkward and for a second the terror in her face told me that she actually believed I was going to rape her.

I went to Ms. Autrey, the director and let her know about my concerns. “Oh Eric, don’t worry about Marcie Chadwick.  She is a real trouper.  She comes from a family of thespians.”

“But she is flubbing her lines.” I waved my arms emphatically.

“When the curtain rises, she will be Blanche Dubois.” She assured me.

Ms Autrey was the only director our group had ever known.  She had started the group when the town had wanted to tear down the Old Courthouse to put up a new one.  She would not allow them to raze the building and instead turned it into a real theater.  For seven years, she ran this company and for her to say such a thing about Marcie Chadwick, it was almost gospel.  Still when I looked over at her, Marcie’s lips were moving as she read her lines.

“Eric, you just be the best Stanley you can be.” She kissed me on the cheek, something theater types do backstage. I would never tell my mother, because she would not understand theater tradition. 

That night the same dream revisited me, but this time the play was Hamlet.  It seemed as if the Bard of Avon was trying to rock my world.  

Boris Tomtonovich was an old man.  Rumors circulated that he had escaped from Russia and he did speak with a hint of a foreign accent.  He had been in every production the Old Courthouse Theater had ever done in some capacity or another.  He knew the lighting system better than anyone and for an old man he moved through the rafters as if he had been born there.  As soon as he fixed a wayward light, he would sit down in his chair and drink from his hip flask declaring a new détente as he raised his flask to his lips. 

“How come this woman is so crummy?” He asked after taking a swig. 

“I don’t know.  All I know is Ms. Autry thinks she’s Blanch Dubois.” I sighed.  He offered me his flask, but I figure this was one theatre tradition I needed to forego.

“She is horrible.” He waved his hand at her as she and Mitch wandered the stage.

“Yes and dress rehearsal is tomorrow.” I closed my eyes.

“She will never make it, you know.” He squinted at me as he took another hit from his flask.

“I know…what are we going to do?” 

The dream returned, but this time it was Death of a Salesman, but instead of Willie crashing his car, he would hang himself.  I saw the noose.  Ms Autry told me the prop was safe and I would not really hang myself.  I put the noose around my neck and stepped off the chair.

I woke up struggling to catch my breath.  Dale was standing there with his head cocked wondering what in the heck was going on.

At breakfast mom was staring at me.  Finally she asked, “Eric, is everything alright?” 

“Yes mom.  It’s just nerves.” I shrugged it off, but she looked at me as if she was not buying what I was selling. I knew Dale told her and made it sound a lot worse than it was.  All I could think about as I finished my breakfast, was that noose I put my neck in. When I looked at Dale, he just looked away.  

Dress rehearsal was a beehive of activity in the dressing rooms and backstage.  Ms. Autry told us that the press was supposed to be there to take pictures and get the story in the newspaper.  

“Marcie is really acting strange.” Greg reported.

“I’m just glad she’s acting.” I gasped. 

“Not funny, dude.” Greg shook his head, “It’s like someone saying Lady Macbeth backstage.” 

“Greg, we are backstage.” I pointed out.

“Oh my God, we are.” He shook his head.

“Too late now.” I shrugged. 

“What’s up with you two?” Jason asked, sitting down next to us in the makeup room.  Jason would be playing Steve Hull, the landlord who lived upstairs and played cards with Stanley and the others. “So what do you think of Marcie?”

It was quiet for nearly a minute after he asked.

“Well?” He looked at both of us.

“She’s going to ruin the show.” I blurted out.

“You think so?” He half-shrugged. 

“She doesn’t know her lines.” Greg let out a heavy sigh.

“Seems alright.” He nodded as he put the pancake makeup on as his base.

I could see the noose again.  I could see it clearly. 

“Well, we shall see, now won’t we?” He laughed as he left the room looking for Mrs. Donald to apply his eye makeup.

“Is it too late to quit?” Greg asked.

“Fraid so.” I nodded. 

I was not in the opening scene.  It would be Eunice, Steve and eventually Blanche Dubois who would enter looking for her sister Stella.  As soon as the curtains parted, flashbulbs went off blinding anyone on stage.  

The Actor’s Nightmare had begun.  Tomorrow was opening night which was usually sold out and that would be followed by another eight performances throughout the next two weeks. Mom and dad would bring Dale to one of the weekend matinees.  I began to wonder if the show would last that long.  I was going to graduate in a few months and then I’d be off to college, but that seemed an eternity away at this point. 

Ms. Autry sat in the front with several reporters from the local newspapers as Blanche crossed the stage and successfully delivered her opening line.  From that line the rest of the play was now put into motion.  There was no turning back.  My first entrance was coming quickly as Stella would introduce me to her sister, Blanche.  It was one of those scenes written so the audience would know who was who.  

I could see Mrs. Donald standing in the wings wearing her apron and her hair pinned in a bun on top of her head.  She was standing next to Mae who had all the props laid out on a table completely organized for easy access. 

More flashes went off as we moved to one of the poker scenes where Mitch is bamboozled by Blanche.  So far so good.  I got my lines out no problem, but Greg stumbled a bit which was alright since he was acting like Blanche had cast a spell on him.  This was how Tennessee Williams wrote it.  

Was it possible that we’d be able to pull this train wreck off?

Then I looked into Marcie’s eyes.  Her eyes were colorless for the most part. There was an awful feeling churning up inside of me. 

Act One ended without a hitch.  Ms. Autry gave us two thumbs up at intermission.

“Did you see Marcie’s eyes?” I asked Greg as Mrs. Donald touched up our makeup.

“I wish you hadn’t said anything. I thought it was just me.” He stretched his neck so he could see her sitting a few chairs down.

“It’s weird if you ask me.” I gulped.

The rape scene came quickly as the Second Act capped off the drama.  This scene was hard for audiences to deal with, because of the violence used by Stanley against Blanche.  I had to bring out all the vile emotion I could.  The rape is not seen, but the animalistic attack on Blanche is part of what must be portrayed.  I was swept away in a wave of pure gusto.  Marcie played her part perfectly. 

When the play was finally over, we came out holding hands for the curtain call. Marcie and I were the last onstage to take our bows, but when I grabbed her hand it was...cold and lifeless. I nearly dropped it as soon as my hand came in contact with hers.

“Great show.” Greg slapped me on the back as we filed into the green room.

“Marvelous show.” Ms. Autry clasped her hands in front of her face after a long applause.  There was a glint of tears in her eye.  I glanced at Marcie, but she was still in lifeless mode.  Her eyes were fixed on something nobody else could see and her skin tone was like frozen meat.  What baffled me was that nobody else seemed to notice.  Here she was the star of the show and she was being totally ignored. Everybody else was floating on a cloud of euphoria, but she just sat there in front of the mirror, removing her stage makeup.

“Hey Marcie, wanna go out for a drink or something?” Jason asked her, but she just shook her head wordlessly.  

“What's wrong with Marcie?” I asked Greg.

He glanced over at her, tilted his head and replied, “Nothing I can see.  She was spot on with her lines tonight.”

He did not see it.

Maybe after weeks of worry and having the actor’s nightmare, the world seemed a bit off kilter to me.  If everyone else sees her as normal, perhaps it is me who is off target on this.

Then Mrs Autry walked over to her. Without a word, she put something into Marcie’s mouth.

Greg handed me a beer.  Normally I would not drink it with my parents buzzing about, but I knew mom was tired and wanted to go home.  So I guzzled half of it down.  I glanced over at Marcie.  She dropped a handful of things she was trying to get into a bag. That distant look in her eye was gone and she was laughing as others told her what a wonderful job she did.  She looked at them as if they were kidding her or pulling her leg.

My dad told me to trust my gut.  He was right. Ms. Autry had given her something to get her through the show.  It wasn’t a theatre tradition, but I had heard of some medications that helped actors and actresses cope with severe stage fright that could actually cause amnesia.

“Ms. Autrey, got a minute?” I asked as she pressed to leave the greenroom door. 

“Sure Eric.  You were superb as Stanley by the way.” She gently put her hand on my cheek.

“Marcie Chadwick?  Did you give her something?” I asked, looking directly into her eyes. My dad also told me that if someone is trying to get away with a lie, you can see their pupils grow larger.  

“Give her something?  Nothing more than I gave you, a big pat on the back.” She laughed, “See you tomorrow. Need to be here at six for a makeup call.” 

She put her hand on my cheek again as she whisked herself out the door, but her pupils did not grow larger.

We actors are a suspicious lot at times.  We believe in certain things that others would think us daft if we told what we were thinking. Superstition seems to rule us and all we do while we are on stage.  

I knew I’d have the actor’s nightmare again tonight. I knew we’d have some misfortune since Greg had mentioned Lady Macbeth's name backstage.  I knew I’d better sit in the same chair for makeup for tomorrow’s opening or I’d be guilty of disrupting the natural order of things.  I knew Mae would have the props put away in the proper place.  I knew Jason would drive her home traveling five to ten miles over the speed limit. I knew Ms. Autry would feed her Yorkshire dog first thing when she got home.  

I watched Marcie get into her car.  After dropping her car keys on the dark pavement, she backed up without putting her headlights on and almost ran into someone pulling out of the parking lot. This was who she was, but I knew from what I had seen this evening, someone had done something to transform her, changing her from an awkward, gawky, clumsy and self doubting young woman into Blanche Dubois.