Accursed Lamé
Per whitemartyr's inquiry, here's the full length version of the costume mishap.
Opening Night and Accursed Lamé
The cast of characters: In November of 2002, I played Veta Louise Simmons in the Springfield Civic Theatre production of Harvey. A friend from Columbus, who had never been in a play before, played my daughter, Myrtle Mae.
A bit of background: The director found--who knows where? A local costume closet, I'm sure--a gaudy Edwardian thing crafted of green and gold lamé, with a big velvet bow/bustle. Not that the costume was awful in and of itself. It's just that it would have been far better suited to a show that was more, well, Edwardian. Director decided he wanted me to wear this thing for the opening "garden party" scene. I politely disagreed with this directorial decision. I gave my character-driven arguments regarding why this was not a good idea, but he, being the director, would not be swayed. So I wore the dress in the first scene and found something more appropriate for the rest of the play (this I would not compromise on). And here we begin:
Nov. 21, 2002--Well, I'm back from opening night. I haven't laughed so hard in ages (and I was in the show). It wasn't a matter of breaking character (although I had a hard time staying in character) or forgetting lines (I just hiked up my skirt and carried on), but . . . well, let me tell you.
First of all, Columbus Friend did very well. Especially since this was her first time ever being on stage. There's only one part wherein I wish she'd have behaved more like my "daughter" and less like a shocked actor taken aback by a costuming mishap.
You see, aside from the inappropriateness of the lamé for the scene in which I'm wearing it, it's really not appropriate for me, either. The waistline on the skirt is a bit too big, and it has a huge bustle/bow weighing down the back. It's a quick-change dress, held together with velcro (you see where this is going?). So, we're moving right along, enjoying the show, when we get to a part where I try to pull a woman across the room into the tea party off stage. She pushes me away, and I step back. Well, I stepped back onto the hem of my (held together by velcro) full-length lamé skirt and down it came. Without missing a beat, the woman tells me I should go freshen up. It definitely warmed up the audience, and I was very glad I could hide behind my handkerchief for the next few moments because I had trouble not laughing. Once I'd gotten my skirt back on, that is. No thanks to Columbus Friend. She just stood there. I had to ask her, "Help me out here, dear," to get her to move.
"Elwood" made his entrance after the incident and delivered his line--"You look lovely this evening"--with a whole new meaning.
It was totally appropriate for my character to be in tears of hysterics at that point in the show, but mine was not a distraught hysteria. Laughing, crying--it's a fine line, right? And of course being in a black box studio theater, the audience is right there, so by that time, they're not just laughing at what had happened, they're laughing at me trying not to laugh. It was all very "Carol Burnett."
But this mishap--this is one of the reasons I didn't want to wear the freakin' thing to begin with. But the comments during the meet-n-greet were very nice. Someone called me a pro. Someone else told me I didn't turn a single shade of red and that I recovered very well. Good to know, for future reference.
Opening Night and Accursed Lamé
The cast of characters: In November of 2002, I played Veta Louise Simmons in the Springfield Civic Theatre production of Harvey. A friend from Columbus, who had never been in a play before, played my daughter, Myrtle Mae.
A bit of background: The director found--who knows where? A local costume closet, I'm sure--a gaudy Edwardian thing crafted of green and gold lamé, with a big velvet bow/bustle. Not that the costume was awful in and of itself. It's just that it would have been far better suited to a show that was more, well, Edwardian. Director decided he wanted me to wear this thing for the opening "garden party" scene. I politely disagreed with this directorial decision. I gave my character-driven arguments regarding why this was not a good idea, but he, being the director, would not be swayed. So I wore the dress in the first scene and found something more appropriate for the rest of the play (this I would not compromise on). And here we begin:
Nov. 21, 2002--Well, I'm back from opening night. I haven't laughed so hard in ages (and I was in the show). It wasn't a matter of breaking character (although I had a hard time staying in character) or forgetting lines (I just hiked up my skirt and carried on), but . . . well, let me tell you.
First of all, Columbus Friend did very well. Especially since this was her first time ever being on stage. There's only one part wherein I wish she'd have behaved more like my "daughter" and less like a shocked actor taken aback by a costuming mishap.
You see, aside from the inappropriateness of the lamé for the scene in which I'm wearing it, it's really not appropriate for me, either. The waistline on the skirt is a bit too big, and it has a huge bustle/bow weighing down the back. It's a quick-change dress, held together with velcro (you see where this is going?). So, we're moving right along, enjoying the show, when we get to a part where I try to pull a woman across the room into the tea party off stage. She pushes me away, and I step back. Well, I stepped back onto the hem of my (held together by velcro) full-length lamé skirt and down it came. Without missing a beat, the woman tells me I should go freshen up. It definitely warmed up the audience, and I was very glad I could hide behind my handkerchief for the next few moments because I had trouble not laughing. Once I'd gotten my skirt back on, that is. No thanks to Columbus Friend. She just stood there. I had to ask her, "Help me out here, dear," to get her to move.
"Elwood" made his entrance after the incident and delivered his line--"You look lovely this evening"--with a whole new meaning.
It was totally appropriate for my character to be in tears of hysterics at that point in the show, but mine was not a distraught hysteria. Laughing, crying--it's a fine line, right? And of course being in a black box studio theater, the audience is right there, so by that time, they're not just laughing at what had happened, they're laughing at me trying not to laugh. It was all very "Carol Burnett."
But this mishap--this is one of the reasons I didn't want to wear the freakin' thing to begin with. But the comments during the meet-n-greet were very nice. Someone called me a pro. Someone else told me I didn't turn a single shade of red and that I recovered very well. Good to know, for future reference.