What it looks like to me: March 2008

Friday, March 28, 2008

Beautiful corner of Iowa

A multireligious sculpture garden in the middle of Davenport, IA.

10 Commandments

Native American totems

Green Man?

Greek Goddess

I love finding stuff like this...

It just goes to show...

You can never tell. And here's why:

When you look at the schedule and see that our next venue seems to be in the wilds of some unpopulated area of an already small state you might think it's going to be a crappy show.

Sometimes you're right (Ft. Smith Arkansas, St. Josephs, Missouri, Ogdensburg, NY, Bartlesville, Oklahoma) and other times you are pleasantly surprised (say, Henderson, Kentucky). Decent big house, good crew and fast load in and out. That was our first day back since break.

They also catered all our meals since we were in the middle of nowhere, and by catered I mean that someone made us lunch and dinner. Chili, spaghetti, potato soup, chips, crackers, cookies, sandwiches, vegetables, salad. We decided we could stay all week, train our crews to run the show and then just eat and sleep since there's nothing else to do.

On the other hand, our next day was Burlington, Iowa (not to be confused with Burlington, Vermont where we'll be in a week). Good lord, what a horrible day.

In no particular order: 1. Our TD was gone to go to a funeral so we were on our own for the whole day 2. The stage was tiny and on the second floor of the building necessitating the use of the slowest freight elevator in all 50 states. 3. of course the doorways were low so everything had to be unloaded in the 'loading area” and sent up piece by piece in the elevator. 4. My crew consisted of at least 50% more chain smoking grandmothers than normal 5. The rest of the non-geriatric labor came from the local halfway house. 6. They were creepy and hostile. 7. The first thing they said to us was “we've never seen girl roadies before...” 8. The show was pretty horrible and then the crews just took off, leaving us 14 people short. 9. We had to stop load out for an hour to resolve the labor issue, and I think the resolution involved threatening words but no more actual bodies on the floor. 10. Best part of the day was leaving. Bonus: The theatre was built with a huge balcony surrounded by a really high railing. The railing is too high for short people to see over when they are seated. BUT the leg room is so tight that tall people can't sit there either.

Everyone raise a glass to the genius theatre builder in Burlington. Cheers.

So we drove to Wausau, Wisconsin (you can reference all of the above paragraph about Henderson, KY – except for the catering), which took us 400 miles away from Iowa. For the record, despite the lice and Burlington, Iowa has been good to us. Our last few venues there before break were great and the crews very efficient. Again, you can never tell. So Wausau was good, we had a fast load out and then got back in the bus and drove 370 miles BACK to within 30 miles of Iowa.

30!

If we didn't have all the buildings in the way we could literally see our last venue in Burlington.

Who is in charge of this nonsense because they should be fired.

Now we're finally in Illinois, which means I might see some friends later this week. However, today we're in Macomb, home of Western Illinois University.

The space is a cavernous arena meant for sports events not Broadway shows.
So they built us a teeny tiny itty bitty stage.
So even though we have space for days, we can only hang one drop and it's puddled on the ground.
An unusual shot of all of our scenery on stage at one time.
Our crews? Volunteer college students. Sigh.

Better than that? At break they sat around a mound of bagels and muffins and juice and cereal and hungrily watched us eat until we realized that they had been forbidden to touch the food.

AND

Our flyman comes up during break and said “We need to be nice to these kids. The Hairspray crew made them cry.”

We have volunteer kids that were forbidden to eat the food at break and the last show they worked was so horrible that several of them cried.

And now they are back to work for us.

It's either going to be the best show ever or they are as dumb as rocks.

Tune in later for the stunning conclusion to this cliffhanger...

Monday, March 17, 2008

A Week Off!

Some or all of these may apply...

In a word

Until next week...

xox
k

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Crazy in Iowa

If Waco was a touring technician rite of passage, I definitely went through a touring wardrobe head rite of passage this past week in Iowa when one of my performers came to me and told me he had body lice.

I'll give you a small clear space to contemplate the implications of that. Those of you with kids in public school should have no trouble.

Got it? (I actually just typed “got nit?” by mistake...)

I imagine some of you are sympathetically scratching right now.

For the rest of you, here's the scene: 24 performers living on a bus, sharing hotel rooms and dressing rooms and occasionally makeup or other personal things, wearing costumes over and over without them being washed or drycleaned, storing costumes together in the same gondolas...

In a word, a grotesque nightmare.

To his credit, he tried to call me in the early afternoon when he found out, but I didn't get the message and so got the news at show call, which is when I tend to find out everything. That then gives me an hour and a half to set up the show, deal with the impending disaster usually meaning that I have to swing one or more people out and frequently conference with the dance captains about the split tracking, train 10 new people to work the show and take a brief moment to breathe deep and pray it all goes well before the overture starts. That isn't ever enough time.

It probably goes without saying that a contagious outbreak like this is one of the biggest costume disasters that can happen to a touring show. We had heard previously that Evita suffered an outbreak of scabies and I remember thinking “A. that's disgusting and B. SO glad that hasn't happened to me.” Everyone in the cast and crew had to be treated and every costume piece had to be washed or dry cleaned. When it did happen to me I thought “A. that's disgusting and B. can I stop this from spreading? and C. how in the world can I possibly clean any clothes on a one nighter schedule?”

In our case, lice is passed primarily through skin to skin contact and secondarily through clothing so the most important thing was to contain the situation. I talked to management and we immediately yanked him out and put our male swing in the show. Jennifer and I must have looked like crazy people as we ran to the deck and started immediatelypulling his clothes out of the gondola and flinging them into a pile on the floor stopping every 30 seconds to say “do you feel itchy? I feel REALLY itchy!” or running over to each other pulling up our sleeve or our pant leg and saying “Does this look like a bite???” In between amateur clinical appointments, we cleared out all his costumes, all his shoes and hats and jewelry and makeup and accessories and threw them all in garbage bags. But he shares a gondola with another performer. So now what?

I called the dance captains over and told them that for all intents and purposes the whole gondola was contaminated and we couldn't use anything in it. That meant 2 male ensemble members were cut from the show. Since we already have a female ensemble member out and we only have 2 swings, we now have to split track the two men's parts. And of course, these are the two tracks that haven't been split tracked before. So while we emptied the gondola, covered it up and did everything but post an enormous HAZMAT sign in blinking lights over it, the dance captains tried to figure out how to run the show short one person. Meanwhile, my crew is coming in so I'm trying to handle this situation, give them the normal instructions on unpacking the show and not tell them what's going on.

I made the executive decision not to tell them about the lice, which may or may not have been the right thing to do. I kept them out of the situation entirely and didn't let any of them handle any potentionally contaminated clothes in that gondola. I admit that it was an entirely selfish move on my part as I didn't need (and couldn't handle) anyone walking off the call. I also figured the chance of contagion for them was low. Again, selfish. I did tell them that one of the performers had a “skin disorder/dermatitis type of thing” and that's why he was out.

Approximately an hour before show time the dance captains came to me and asked if I had enough extra costumes to put one of the performers (the noninfested one) back in the show. They said it was just going to be really difficult to split track those two parts and any scene I could put him in would help them out. Split tracking, for those who aren't familiar, requires going through the show scene by scene and figuring out who can be cut, which two parts one person could play in any given scene and how to rechoreograph it so that the missing person isn't obvious or give the one person time to change costumes so they can play two parts. It's exhausting for everyone, it adds quick changes to my tracking and makes some of our dresser track instructions obsolete. A huge mess.

I ended up putting my performer through an impromptu fitting, scrabbling together as many costumes as I could for him, making sure they were ironed or steamed to be presentable, figuring out which scenes he wasn't in, changing my tracking to accommodate that, pulling all the costumes necessary for my other swing to go in for the lice infested performer and then giving them both somewhere to change since they couldn't use their gondola. At 7PM for a 7:30 show I could finally pass out dresser tracks, explain our show, put presets together and hope for the best. Fortunately I had a decent crew because I gave them little to no instruction. Compared to my normal spiel, I essentially threw dresser tracks at them, pointed them in the direction of the gondolas and walked away.

The show is a blur but we survived it with no major mishaps. Load out was horrendous because I had one gondola out of commission, all the clothes, shoes, hats etc. in huge garbage bags that had to travel somewhere and couldn't be near any of my costume stuff, and my two extra gondolas looked like they had exploded all over the room from my impromptu fitting. On top of that I could look forward to a whole next day of disinfection. I decided to send all of the infected performer's clothes to New York to be cleaned over break, which is next week, since he's out of the show until we come back. But I still had to deal with the noninfected performer that shares his gondola.

About that next day I'll just say 2 things: Lysol and hot water. All day.

It has occurred to me to wonder if all tours are as hard as this one has been. On top of being one person short in my department (by choice, I admit) and on a one nighter schedule that has me loading 15 gondolas worth of wigs and wardrobe in and out of venues every day, we haven't had a show with the full company in over a month. Since we opened in Atlantic City, we've had 4 performers out anywhere from a week to a month each with sickness in their immediate family. On top of that we've had the normal amount of sickness and injury that takes people out of the show, we've had some of the worst and smallest venues in the country and now lice. To any and all in charge of this mess, I say:

Enough already.

Saturday, March 08, 2008

Waco?? Really??

O...M....G

Last Fall: We see Waco on the schedule and while most of us think of the show down with the FBI, the more experienced technicians who have toured before say “oh no, Waco is the absolute WORST venue in the entire United States...” It's so small that the actors dress outside in the parking lot. Hmmm. But at that point we have no idea what that really means in a practical sense.

2 Months later: We've played Columbia, MO where wigs and wardrobe were outside in the parking lot, Ogdensburg, NY (Awesomesburg!) the high school where the dressing rooms were in the library and the wigs and wardrobe were in the hallway and the tiny venues in Ft. Smith, AR and St. Josephs MO where our sets barely fit into the building and we cut the pigeon coop and had complete idiots working for us and ice storms. We think we've seen some bad venues and how much worse can it get?

For the record, when it comes to Waco this is not a good question to ask.

A week ago: We get a pep talk from our Production Manager about our tight relationship with the presenter in Waco who's fighting the longest of uphill battles to bring culture to Waco and about another show we're familiar with that had a horrible experience in Waco and soured all the locals on working with our company and our responsibility to improve relations. Broadway show as diplomat. No pressure.

Yesterday: We arrive in Waco with a weather report predicting snow and rain.

9AM: I arrive in the building and my TD tells me that the wardrobe workroom is next door sharing space with an office furniture rental store, the gondolas will live in the parking lot, it's currently 50 degrees and dropping and the actors will have to dress outside. We start to discuss using one of the trucks for all the gondolas. The space is small, probably smaller than any venue we've played (47 feet wide and 28 feet deep to the back wall) but further constrained by two huge stairwells upstage that take an additional 5 feet of space. On the upside the dressing rooms are cute, though small, with enough space for our 24 actors.

10AM: Half the drops are cut and the rest are hung with fold backs that almost meet in the middle, electrics are working on getting lights hung, audio is set up outside in the parking lot and over the radio we hear our TD “Everyone outside now! It's starting to rain, get tarps and cover everything!”

10:30AM: By break time, the drizzle turns into steady rain. Deck carts are in the parking lot getting unloaded by hand and only about a third of it fits in the building. Audio is at a stand still. The second truck hasn't even been opened. Wardrobe crew has been sitting around for 2 hours with nothing to do.

11AM: I finally get the laundry bags off the truck and start laundry. The house TD keeps coming up to me and saying that he had no idea I would need so many wardrobe people and that he's working on it. 10 minutes later a woman who looks like a homeless crackhead shows up and checks in to be part of my wardrobe crew. My TD takes one look at my face and just walks away laughing. She eats half a dozen donuts, hangs out for a hour or so and takes off and I never see her again.

11:30AM: My stage manager comes over radio to say that one of the actresses has called out. We now have both our swings in the show. I take a minute to walk away and take a deep cleansing breath...

Noon: the second truck hasn't been opened. It's pouring rain and really cold. We're discussing the dire and increasingly real possibility that not only will we not be ready for the show but we may not have a place for the actors to dress, that they could get sick changing clothes in 40 degree weather and that costumes and wigs may get ruined as actors walk between the truck and the theatre in the rain. This is all a moot point as I have yet to get anything wardrobe related off a truck, except dirty laundry.

2PM: Scenery carts are still on the truck. Not only is the ramp so slick that someone could get hurt or killed trying to move them but the carpenters are still trying to figure out how to actually get them through the 6 foot doorway and what to do with them if they can get them into the building. Wardrobe gondolas can't be moved off the truck because it's still pouring rain and there's nowhere to put them. But it's lunch time! Hooray...

3PM: Still have no wardrobe stuff off the truck. Still have no scenery in the building. Everything is at a standstill. Still pouring rain. Still freezing cold (except the follow spot booth which not only has cockroaches but is also at least 90 degrees). The TD then asks the stage manager the question that's never been asked. “Realistically speaking, what's the maximum number of things that can be cut and still have a show?” She starts listing props that could be cut, and he stops her to say “I'm talking about hard scenery...”

3:05: Our Production Manager is on the phone with the stage manager, the presenter and our TD in rapid and repetitive succession. Can we have a show without Max's office if we can't get it off the truck and into the building? Can we cut actors to minimize the number of costumes necessary for the show? Should we cut the showgirl panniers because we literally can't fit them backstage? Of course we're cutting the pigeon coop, the Springtime stairs, bunkers and portal. That's not even a question. Can we cut the townhouse? Can we cut the accountant units? In short, would it be better to do the show with everyone in street clothes and a minimal number of scenery pieces or should we cut all the scenery and put everyone in full costume? It's Waco and apparently you don't get costumes AND scenery.

And in the back of everyone's mind is the growing question “Can we actually do this show?”

3:30: we cut all scenery and put the costume gondolas in the building, thereby creating two new records for that venue. I tell my stage manager that she now owes me a “no wardrobe” show since wardrobe and wigs are the only departments with no significant cuts. After the day she's had, I think she fails to find the humor in that suggestion.

4PM, 5PM and 6PM: multiple and varied discussions about the props necessary to create the illusion of “The Producers” with no scenery and subsequent scrounging of local warehouses for appropriate pieces. We end up with a couch and a desk and a human chain of locals stretched over the top of the scenery carts within the truck trying to unearth the necessary props from the nose of the truck and pass them back to people standing outside in the rain. Despite the lack of scenery I still have less than 2 feet of space for quick changes in the wings.

7PM: I finally get the last of my 10 wardrobe locals an hour after show call, 7 of which have never worked wardrobe before. I have half an hour to train them and get ready to work the show. There are crews that I get who haven't ever worked wardrobe but when I start explaining how everything works, they grasp the concept immediately and the show goes well. This group is the other kind...

7:10, 7:15, 7:23, &:7:25: Concerned actors keep asking me how I'm doing and I keep saying “I have no idea. I don't know how we're actually going to do this show?”

7:40: Showtime. And it finally stops raining.

I'm going to consolidate the next 3 hours into a couple of observations: I had a couple dressers that were great and a couple that may as well have not been there. I think that Jennifer and I both ran at least one track in addition to our own as our dressers sat outside and smoked or disappeared for minutes at a time. Mid show I look up and there was a bat (A BAT!) flying across back stage. None of the locals were surprised by this and in fact seemed surprised that we would be questioning the presence of a BAT inside the theatre. The show itself looked like a high school musical with furniture donated by Goodwill. There were so few surfaces – tables etc. - that actors had to walk in and out of the wings to pick things up and put them down. The pigeon mini coop consisting of a table draped with black fabric was adorable and hilarious... And the audience loved the whole thing. The presenter was extremely happy and said he'd say nice things about us to our production manager.

Load out was everything we expected of three half full trucks with stuff never unloaded, stuff back loaded and stuff rearranged. Plus it was icy cold, the adrenaline had worn off and the fun of trying to fold a 60 foot drop in a 47 foot space wore off quickly. Normally we would get in the bus and try to one up eachother with the best story of the day but there were just too many today. Plus, we just wanted to look forward to a guaranteed 7 hours of sleep as we traveled back to lousiana. So we had a drink, told each other it already felt like a bad dream and went to bed.