|
|
|
|
Professional Theatre Debut is Off the Beat Journal Entry: August 5, 1986 (age 16) Today’s Guys & Dolls rehearsal at the Cider Mill Playhouse in Endicott was a humbling experience. I watched Claus Evans play the role of Nicely-Nicely Johnson so nicely-nicely that I will never be able to imagine anyone else in the role. I listened as Jerri Harris nailed every note as Adelaide. My jaw dropped as a SUNY-Binghamton student named Greg O’Brien made dance moves that defied the laws of physics. What was I doing there? I’m just a 16-year-old kid with a high ham-to-body-weight ratio. Actually, the reason I was there is Jan DeAngelo. At my high school, Seton Catholic Central, Jan is the assistant director of the musical productions. He’s taught me a lot about acting, singing and the theatre world in general. In short, he’s become a mentor to me. On his recommendation, I was given a small, non-speaking role in this Cider Mill show. It’s my first professional theatre job, and I’m very excited about it. But I’m also worried. It seems like every other member of the cast can act, sing, dance and play a musical instrument. I make goofy faces. The college students in the cast, like Penny Powell and Chris Nickerson, are only a few years older than me, but they are much more experienced and polished. When I was first informed that I would be playing a member of the “Mission Band,” I got a bit worried. Upon meeting the musical director, I said, “Um, I don’t play an instrument.” She sighed and said, “That’s okay, we’ll give you a triangle to play.” All I really do in the show is walk across the stage a couple of times, hitting the triangle with the hit-the-triangle thingie. That’s fine with me. I’m content to let triple-threats like Jan do all the accents, high notes and cartwheels. That leaves me alone to concentrate on my mantra: “Walk, walk, HIT THING, walk, walk, HIT THING.” Today, however, I was told to join the orchestra for a dance scene that takes place in Cuba. They needed a few extra hands to play Latin percussion instruments. Thinking this might not be a good idea, I nonetheless took my seat among the musicians and smiled meekly as I was handed a pair of wood sticks. My only task, I was told, was to play and repeat a very simple beat. Bop-bop-bop…bop-bop. I tried it a few times, and found that I could, in fact, do it. By the time the music for the scene started, I felt pretty confident. Then something called “the melody” started. The beat that I had been laying down started to sit up, roll over and fall backwards. Bop-bop…bop-bop-bop-bop-bop…bop. Somewhere around the midpoint of the song, the musical director stopped us. After a long pause and a deep breath, she spoke in a soft, firm voice. “Let’s try it again…this time without Tim.” The drummer next to me patted me on the back as he took away my wood sticks. A moment later, he handed me a pair of innocuous maracas. As the song began again, I stared at the floor, focusing all my energy on shaking those oversized baby rattles as quietly as I could.
©
2007 Tim Mollen
|
|
|
|
