Some Poor Player

Some Poor Player

Kerry hated making blood. It was next to impossible to get the right consistency. Too much corn syrup and the stuff turned into taffy, too much red food colouring and it would drip all over the stage. And it was a total pain in the ass getting if off the costumes. Why had she got stuck with Macbeth of all plays? Why couldn’t it have been As You Like It, Twelfth Night or Comedy of Errors. No, not Comedy, too many quick changes. At least Macbeth was a short play. It was no Hamlet.

She gave a final stir to the congealing mess in the bowl while running through the pre-show check list in her mind. The actors would be in soon and she needed to make sure the stage was set with the correct props. Lucky for her, there was no furniture in their most basic of productions. Even so, she was responsible for everything backstage, her and her alone. That’s what happens when you get a job with a rinky-dink touring company - you do the work of three people. Someday, Kerry dreamed, she’d be working for a major production company and would only have one job, say assistant stage manager or spotlight operator. She would finish work and not have to get into a clapped-out van with a bunch of actors who talked about their performance the whole drive back. She would only do eight shows a week.

“Kerry, where are my trousers? They aren’t in the dressing room.” It was Brandon, she recognized him by the whine in his voice. She didn’t bother turning around from the sink where she was washing off the congealed blood.

“Just a minute Brandon. I need to unpack them.” While the rest of the cast would be in a café nearby finishing lunch, Brandon always returned to the venue early so he could do his vocal exercises. The exercises didn’t seem to be helping much. When he gave the line, ‘If it were done when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well it were done quickly,’ he invariably stumbled and you could almost hear the audience rolling their eyes.

Brandon also felt it was important to get into character before the show. She was not sure how he did this but she had once walked in on him brandishing a knife at his make-up mirror. A real knife. She had put out her hand.

“Let me lock that up with the rest of your valuables.” He had obeyed. He had no choice; she was the stage manager.

And despite all his efforts, Brandon’s performance was either wooden or grandiose, as if likening back to the era of 18^th century high melodrama.

‘Is that a dagger that I see before me?’ was performed with a fall to the knees, both hands clutched to the breast. The school age audience that they catered to would explode in giggles. Kerry cringed every time. Really, Brandon should go back to his job at F.A.O. Schwartz. If he worked hard there, he could one day rise to manager. As an actor, he was never going to get past Department of Education tours.

She had to admit that kids were a rough crowd to play to. Maybe Brandon could perform better with an audience that actually wanted to see the show. Kids didn’t seem to realise that there was a difference between television and live theatre. They chatted through the play, crunched on potato chips and crinkled candy wrappers, oblivious to the fact that the actors could hear them. Some of the little brats even got their phones out and started scrolling, though none ever bothered to take photos – none of the actors in the show were sexy enough to warrant a snapchat post.

Speaking of the dear children, she had better make sure the house was ready to receive their guests. She collected the costumes, knocked once on the classroom they were using as a dressing room (boys and girls sharing, it was fine, they were actors). A few more performers had rocked up. Kerry shared out their costumes – black t-shirts and trousers for the men, black sheath dresses for the women. Boring, but she didn’t have to wash them between every show.

The English teacher that had organized the visit was twittering at the entrance to the auditorium.

“You know how to work the lights and the curtain, right?” Kerry nodded. She’d been in more school auditoriums on this tour than she’d had hot dinners. “You’ll have years seven through nine.”

“Twelve, thirteen and fourteen-year-olds,” Kerry confirmed. It was the teacher’s turn to nod. Kerry also noticed her gulp. She knew. Thirteen-year-olds. It could get ugly. “We’ll be ready in twenty minutes. I’m just going to set the props.”

The teacher took her hand and gripped it, “Thank you. We’re so grateful.”

Wait till you see the show, Kerry kept the thought to herself. She shouldn’t be negative but with their limited, no non-existent budget, they had to rely completely on the words to tell the story. Fine. It was Shakespeare. What better words could you come up with? But they had to be delivered in a way that young people could understand and the director, a Harvard graduate with pretentions of grandeur had created a production that would have looked dusty in a museum. He’d also cast actors who followed orders rather than creative impulses. Then he had disappeared, leaving Kerry to keep the sinking ship afloat. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t that bad but she had seen the show too many times. 200 times and still counting. She’d actually fallen asleep once and missed a few light cues. Now she made sure she had a double espresso before slipping into the lighting booth and calling the actors to their places.

Once she made sure the props were ready and her cue sheets were set in place, she gave the actors a five-minute warning.

“Can you make sure the blood isn’t as sticky as yesterday,” Laura, playing Lady Macbeth called after her.

The blood! Dammit. Kerry ran back to the sink where she had left the blood and placed the bowl in the wings on the prop table, next to the rubber dagger.

All set. She popped her head into the dressing room, averting her glance in case she was exposed to Bill’s naked torso. Playing Banquo, he always put his shirt on at the last minute and his well-developed beer belly hurt her eyes.

She was in her booth. The kids were shuffled in, like cattle being led down the chute towards the abattoir. There was conversation but none of it was animated. No one was looking forward to seeing this production of Macbeth, least of all Kerry.

House out, foreboding music cue, curtain up, lights up slow on the three sisters. Lady M doubling as one of the sisters – no problems with a costume change, the black sheath dress worked for both roles. They had been forced to use one of the men to play a witch so technically speaking it was two sisters and a brother. Never mind. The kids probably hadn’t read the play anyway. Kerry wished she could have pumped in a bit of dry ice for atmosphere. However, there was bound to be an asthmatic youngster in the audience. Health and safety regulations must prevail.

The scene was too long. Why hadn’t the director made more cuts? Didn’t he know he was directing a piece for a school tour? Blah, blah, ‘Thrice to thine and thrice to mine,’ ‘so foul and fair,’ blah blah, ‘all hail Macbeth’ and so on. Lights fade, foreboding music rising.

Lady M now onstage with Mr M. Crikey, could Laura have done her ponytail any tighter? She’d literally given herself a facelift. Well, she did sort of need one. ‘But screw your courage to the sticking place’ got a laugh. Everything is about sex when you are a teenager. The actors paused to let the laughter die down. Kerry noticed Laura’s huff of annoyance. Hey, at least the kids were still awake.

Whoop whoop! They made it through Act I. Now for Brandon’s party piece with the dagger. Kerry hoped he picked it up off the table without spilling the blood. Last week, he knocked the blood bowl over when he snatched the rubber dagger and got the glutinous mess all over the floor. The actors stepped in it and tracked it all over the stage. Bloody footsteps were a cool effect visually but the squelching sound as the performers peeled their soles off the stage floor didn’t quite fit with the tragic ethos of the play. And the school custodian had made a complaint afterwards about having to work overtime to get the gunk off the stage. The school had sent a letter informing the troupe that they would not be welcome back.

Standing in the spotlight, Brandon began, “Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle towards my hand.”  He lifted the dagger and then fell to his knees, clutching the prop not at his chest but closer to his crotch. Worried, Kerry got out of her chair and leaned forward, peering from the booth. She could see the sweat beading on his brow. It was a small theatre so the spotlight was intense when it hit him. Maybe he had heatstroke. Wait, it was a rubber dagger. Gritting her teeth, she watched it wilt, bending like the broken neck of a dead pigeon.

It started with a titter. Some restraint then. It grew, giggling, snorts and then all out guffaws. By the time Brandon got to, ‘I see thee yet, in form as palpable as this which now I draw,’ he had become inaudible. He soldiered on till, ‘Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse…’ then he dropped character and stood up, flinging the errant dagger to the floor, and stamping his foot.

“To hell with this shit!” Reaching into his boot he pulled out a knife, a proper Scottish dirk. How had he rammed that down his boot? Brandishing the knife he strode to the edge of the stage. “I’ve had enough of your poor manners and disrespect. I am an actor. I am not an avatar on your computer screen. I can hear you! I am a real person. Now shut up and let me finish my speech!”

“You shut up!” was the first reply. It got a lot saltier after that. They started throwing things – mostly paper products but one hefty math textbook hit the stage. The teachers tried to corral them but between Brandon’s continued rant and the teenagers need to express their opinions, no order was regained. A school security guard rocked up and tried to shout over the melee. What could Kerry do? She blacked out the stage and the house.

Actors are good at seeing in the dark. Brandon had no trouble getting off stage but he dropped his dirk during the journey. He knocked over the bowl of blood again as well. Nobody knows what happened to the blade in question. Kerry figured some thirteen-year-old was making use of it to extort lunch money from his or her peers.

It was a shame Brandon was arrested for ‘threatening and endangering minors’. Kerry thought he had finally shown some potential in his heartfelt plea begging the children to shut up and listen. She heard he was involved in a theatre program in prison and was getting decent roles, so maybe it was a good learning experience for him. As for her, it didn’t look like she was going to Broadway anytime soon. She was fired for not having better control of the actors. Not fair. The teachers didn’t lose their jobs because their students went feral. And actors were really just tall children. What was she supposed to do with them?

At least she didn’t have to make blood anymore. Maybe she would look into work with animals. It could only be easier.