Tuesday, December 13, 2011

The time my head should have exploded, but didn't.

I was recently asked if I would have any interest in doing MAN OF LA MANCHA.

Guess what my answer was?

It started with a Hell and ended with a Yes.  And a little tiny exclamation point at the end.

Now, nothing will ever come of this.  But it was nice to be asked, truly nice to be remembered after all of these years out of the profession, and it would have been nice to clear a blot that's been like a finger in my eye since I first did a production of that play back in 199-something.

I have long since forgotten the director's name.  Short of killing him (and it was a very near thing), that's the best and only thing I could do; ERASE that sad sack of s**t from my memory.  But the scars remain.

Among his sins:

Directing the show from the book of a previous production, i.e, directing actors he wished he had rather than the actors he had.  Directing like a Mother-In-Law drives from the back seat.....allowing for absolutely no creative input.

At one point, I moved a little farther right than he had directed.  A step or two.  Still in the light, but allowing for some space between myself and the primary action.  He stopped the rehearsal and literally spoke to me as if I were a child.  And you all KNOW how I respond to such things.

Badly.

I did it again a few days later, by instinct rather than malice.  Again, he stopped and this time he screamed at me.  And you all KNOW how I respond to that.

VERY badly.

This was a two week rehearsal period, and quite possibly the worst I've ever been through.  If it was possible for a director to completely separate the cast from the production, he did it.  And it seemed as if he was doing it intentionally.

On the day we were to open, he called a full dress rehearsal for the afternoon.  This is the kind of guy who would probably jack off before heading out to the orgy.  Forgive the visual.

The stage manager talked him out of it, and he said, "okay, I'll just give some notes."  And he did.

He gave notes from 9:00 AM until Noon.  And then we broke for lunch.  And then we came back and he continued until 4:00 PM.  Six hours of notes for a two hour show.  He literally had everybody believing that we would have to bring our A game to merely SUCK.

I, of course, was furious.  And, at 3:55, with the possibility of escaping this odious man's presence minutes away, I moved to the back of the house.

"Don't go anywhere, John." he says for everybody to hear.

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere.....sir."  was my response.

Afterward, a fellow in the cast who currently does those United States Postal Service commercials said to me, "I've never heard anybody say 'sir', and make it sound like, 'ASSHOLE!' before."

So, we opened the show, and it went pretty well.  There were some glitches, but we covered them.  The audience was very appreciative.  And just like that, it was over, it was open, and I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to deal with that idiot again.

Oh, but I was so wrong....in a show of pure, unadulterated narcissism, he makes an appearance in the dressing room!

His profuse praise to his cast?  "Well, that was okay, all things considered."

Our eyes met in the makeup mirror that I was staring into, in the hopes that I would not leap across the room and throttle the sonofabitch.  Pop his head off like a champagne cork.  Nut-punch the smug bastard.  He could not help but see the look of pure malevolence on my face.

He left town the next morning, and I have not seen him from that day to this.  And I can only hope that he took a job as a butcher, because he had some talent in that regard.  To his only credit, he left me with a great story about the worst director I've ever worked with.

Then again, the world is wide, and life is long, so I probably shouldn't put that trophy away so quickly.

Well.  That was cathartic.

So, to sum up.  I would do MAN OF LA MANCHA again.

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