An Unnecessary Understudy

it might have happened...

Performers are amazing. We’re still up in Niagara-On-The-Lake-in Ontario, enjoying the Shaw Festival. Last night, the audience shivered in jackets and blankets as an outdoor musical of Rogers & Hammerstein’s songs was performed. The singers and dancers wore light summer clothing, clouds of vapors coming from their mouths in the cold night air. Enthusiastic applause greeted their commitment to their craft despite the almost Fall chill.

This is the 61^st year of the Shaw Festival, a repertory series of plays by Shaw and other greats. It’s a unique experience that allows visitors to view a variety of plays during their stay, held at several theaters across the village. We’re here for a week with friends, renting a lovely house, and we’ll see seven shows interspersed with walks along the boulevard, surrounded by lush flowers. 

If you rise early in the morning, you can watch the magical crew of village workers watering, trimming, and pruning, all disappearing before most of the populace awakes. In addition to the plays and the scenery, there are interesting shops and restaurants to visit. You have to be careful, though, as gelato in your wafer cone tends to drip on your sneakers, as I discovered too late.

This is an adult Disneyland-like experience, divorced from everyday day life. An authentic vacation experience.

We saw the Noel Coward play Blithe Spirits the other day, and although Coward isn’t among my favorites, it was an exuberant performance. After the show, there was a “talkback” with one of the actors. During my working life, I had to do a fair amount of public speaking, and I empathize with anyone trying to get an audience to ask questions. The actor shared insights into his performance and then asked for questions. Silence. Uncomfortable silence. My hand shot up, and I was in league with the actor, willingly offering him a question that led to a lengthy discussion of how Coward ended his plays, with the main character usually sneaking away from the scene. 

Other folks started asking questions, and I realized I had been the grease, the lubricant, for this interpersonal machine. I’ve been there many times, up at the front of a room, waiting for that inquisitive look, searching past the people with eyes cast downward at their programs. I was on the same plane as the actor. I helped out with my eager, upturned hand several more times with provocative questions and felt I had contributed more than expected of any audience member. The experience was intoxicating.

As we approached the theater entrance at the next day’s play, I hoped to find that slip of paper in my playbill that announced, “… the role of Thomas will be played by Jordan Jankus at this performance.”  Sadly, my performative skills were not required.

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