Live Theatre
Being a Hitchcock fan, I was eager to see Patrick Barlow’s Broadway production of The Thirty-Nine Steps a few years back. It was quite a show, with only four actors playing every role. Two did the Robert Donat and Madeleine Carroll parts, and two male actors interpreted all the other male and female characters. It was clever and funny and didn’t leave out any Hitchcockian nuances.
My wife Bridget and I enjoyed it so much that when we heard Barlow was doing A Christmas Carol this past December, we made it a point to get tickets. It was Off-Broadway, and the production wouldn’t be as elaborate as The Thirty-Nine Steps, but we knew it would be creative. It was at a small theatre in an old church west of Times Square. There was no curtain, and the stage was a turntable with two set pieces mounted on it: one abstractly representing a wall with a doorway and lamp post and the other, a spiral staircase, both about fifteen feet high. We soon learned that the actors would spin and reposition them to make scene changes throughout the play. We sat in front-row seats and expected an intimate experience.
The lights went up on Scrooge in his office with an offstage voice saying Dickens’ classic opening line, “Marley was dead: to begin with.” The first scene change to Scrooge’s bedroom was accomplished by a rotation of the stage and the actors turning the two sections of the set, all in view of the audience. It worked smoothly and effectively. Marley’s ghost came and went, and when it was time for the Ghost of Christmas Past’s entrance, the set was again readjusted. This time, it was more melodramatic with flashing lights and weird sounds accompanying the ghost’s entry into Scrooge’s bedroom. The stage revolved and the actors rapidly swirled the staircase and the wall to add to the eerie effects.
As all of this movement came to a halt, Bridget said to me, “Look, it broke!” A metal bracket snapped off the section of the set representing the wall, and the whole thing started tilting toward the section of the audience where we were sitting. The smallest and lightest actor on the stage held on tight, dug her heels in, and tried her best to keep it from falling on us. Before I had to decide whether I’d jump up and help her or run for safety, all the other actors on stage realized what was happening and rushed to her aid. Their efforts prevented what could have been a catastrophic final act. The same off-stage voice that began the first act calmly announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be taking a short break in the performance,” and the house lights went up.
Not having a curtain, the disembodied voice had to explain what we saw on stage.
“We will try,” it said, “to repair the set or at least make it safe, and at the same time, the actors will attempt to come up with a way of completing the production without taking the chance of moving the damaged set which might thereby cause an accident.”
He asked for our indulgence for just thirty minutes. There was a huddle at the darkened rear of the stage with the actors and stage manager. At the same time, two stagehands struggled to repair the broken bracket, and of course, the audience could see everything happening on stage.
When the actors had finished their brief discussion, they came to center stage, with one carrying an accordion who said, “In order to keep you entertained while decisions are being made, we’ll sing some Christmas carols.”
They began to sing, and Scrooge, still dressed in his nightshirt, slippers, and nightcap did a jig to God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. This went on for some time, and it really was entertaining. Although some of them might not have known all the words to the carols, like many actors, versatile and ready for any part that might come their way, they knew how to sing. And Scrooge’s little improvised dance wasn’t half bad. The audience began a sing-along, and as we sang, I watched the stagehands, just a few feet away, working on the set, first with clamps and wire and then with gaffer tape. Now, gaffer tape is a remarkably useful product and can solve a great number of problems, but not this collapsing set. Eventually, and regretfully, the stage manager came downstage and announced that the play would have to be canceled rather than risk harm to the actors and audience. We applauded and shouted for one more carol. The actors and stagehands obliged, and we walked up the aisle to Silent Night.
These were theatre people who were there to entertain. They ran into unexpected difficulties, making the intended performance impossible, but they performed anyway. They broke character, and they gave it their all. I couldn’t imagine anything comparable at a movie and certainly not on television. When we reached the lobby, we were given a choice of getting a rain check or a refund. We chose neither. Returning to see the same production without the added drama of the set collapse would have been anti-climactic. And we felt we didn’t deserve a refund because we had already got what we paid for: a great night of live theatre.
Leave a Reply