Fruma Sarah

This post is just for fun.  
I wrote this several years ago, after playing Fruma Sarah 
in a production of Fiddler on the Roof.  
We relived the adventure outside in the alley during intermission, 
with almost nightly embellishments, 
until it became inevitable that it would wind up on paper.
Unfortunately, this photo was taken without the makeup.
For perspective, I'm standing next to a 6' 7" Tevye. 

The program calls my character “Fruma Sarah, Lazar Wolf’s dead wife,” but Steve just calls me Arms.  He is Legs.  Fruma, you see, is bigger than life.  Literally.  Each night I climb on Leg’s shoulders and together we whirl and howl our way around the stage for two minutes.  “Just where do you mount up?” we were asked.  I vainly try to suggest more genteel terminology.  How do I explain wrapping my legs around some guy and throwing my dress over his head in terms that are family friendly? 

He wears a tank top, white tights and ballet slippers (size 13, on size 14 feet) and a petticoat.  I have a matching petticoat, loosely tied around my hips.  Spandex tights are my attempt at preserving some sense of modesty, if not dignity.  (When looking at the blouse I wear the rest of the show and musing to no one in particular, “who got make-up all over my costume?,” Legs replied from a distance, “if it’s your tights, it was probably me.”  So much for dignity.)  My purple, flame embellished gown has a lace inset designed to allow little flashes of light to guide Leg’s blinded steps.  Less noticeable is the purple shirt I wear underneath so the sheerness of the lace is less obvious.  The shirt actually performs a dual function, concealing the bath puff stuffed, low slung lavender bra (Dolly Parton would be proud) that works to keep Fruma’s anatomy protruding at the appropriate places and not primarily from Leg’s head, which could make Fruma look strangely pregnant.  On top of it all are long stands of disco beads/pearls, and a waist length red wig that I tease to Tina Turner proportions each night.  Add a black and white skeleton-like face that has elicited such comments from the cast as, “isn’t it nice you don’t have to wear make-up in this scene,” and Fruma is ready to rumble.

Every performance goes something like this:  The song begins, and all other cast members enter the stage.  Then Legs sets a bench down in the wings and sits.  I climb onto the bench, straddling Legs, holding my wadded up gown and beads in one hand so I can loosen the tie on my petticoat with the other.  I scoot up behind him, and throw the petticoat over his head.  He then ties it under his chin.  We’re hoping to disguise all the knees and elbows going on down there so Fruma doesn’t look like something from Alien.  I half stand, half squat behind Legs, now that we are dressed in the same petticoat, but trying to minimize the time he needs to support my full weight on his shoulders.  In time, I assume the position, slide forward, and we stand.  I wrap my feet behind his back for balance.  I drop the gown over his head, trying to make sure the lace panel is somewhere in front of an eye or two, and let the beads fall.  We work our way past the side curtains toward our entrance position, and I’m so used to shuffling around solo in the long dress backstage that I instinctively lift my/our gown as we walk so he won’t trip on it. 

The final step is to wait for the music cue as I fluff my wig one final time, mentally race through my lyrics, and try to feel appropriately dead.  On stage we are one, at least as long as I remember not to wave my flowing sleeves in front of the lace panel during any portions of the song requiring foot movement.  The moment the final howl is heard, we are back in the wings, and I quickly grab the dress up and over his head as we make our way to a backstage table for the dismount.  There is sweating and panting and struggling with getting clothes off quickly.  Legs has been known to light a cigarette just thinking about it.  

Papa, Can You Hear Me?

I know – today’s song is from a film, not from a Broadway show, but c’mon.  It’s Babs!  

I just returned from a pioneer trek.  The simple explanation – a church camping event for teenagers basically designed to teach them an appreciation for their religious heritage and to build friendships.  My responsibility was to coordinate and facilitate musical events during the course of this 3 day experience.  All in all, it went well.  The same number came home (about 360) as left, so that’s a good thing. 

With such a large group, in an outdoor settings, we needed amplification for most of the musical numbers.  I was reminded of one of my soapbox speeches, so I decided to pull that particular one out for today’s blog.  Since it’s a soapbox, it’s also a longer post than normal!  It’s all about microphones.  I am convinced that everyone should take a short course in using a mic.  It isn’t hard, you don’t have to be a techie and you’re likely to have to know something about it at some point in your life, even if you aren’t involved in theater.  Here’s my short course.  If your eyes begin to glaze over, skip to the end.  There won't be a test, at least until you have to grab a mic in order to be heard.

There are different types of microphones, designed for different purposes.  Those used in a recording studio are generally not the type most people will encounter while giving a speech or singing for an audience.  The handheld mics most people will use are called dymanic mics.  While they tend to be a little more sturdy than other more sensitive microphones, there are still some basic rules for their care.  Not dropping them is obvious, but hitting them to see if they are on is also a bad idea.  It’s like hitting your child to see if he’s awake.  Effective, but not smart.  Blowing on them is also not good, although more of a problem for other types of mics.  The best thing?  Snap your fingers, talk into them (what a concept!) or scratch the windscreen (often a silver mesh covering).  That way, you are making sounds that the mic will pick up, not inflicting abuse!

Many dynamic mics have switches.  Think of it like a light switch.  Up (toward your mouth as you hold it) is on, down is off.  I don’t know how many times people have held a mic with the switch off and stood there hitting it while looking at me like I ought to be fixing something for them.  Yeah, just turn on the switch. 

There is also what is called a pickup pattern on a mic.  It is the actual area around the microphone that will “hear” the sounds.  Think of it like a flashlight.  If you stand directly in front of a flashlight, it will illuminate you.  If you stand off to the side a bit, you won’t be seen as well.  If you’re behind it, you won’t be seen at all.  Point that flashlight (microphone) directly toward your mouth, and you will be loudest.  I have seen people hold them like a bridal bouquet somewhere near their belt, and they wonder why they can’t be heard.  Certainly, some mics and some systems are more sensitive, but if in doubt, just get it closer to your mouth.  There is a mathematical formula (it’s all physics) for the amplification versus distance from the source.  Basically, it falls off noticeably each time you double the distance.  So, 3 inches from your mouth is going to be louder than 6 inches, which is louder than 12 inches.  If you hold it like a candle (completely vertical) in front of your mouth, it may still pick up your voice, but seldom as well as if you speak right down the throat of the mic.  Be a rock star!  Remember, the sound tech can always turn you down, but often cannot turn you up much higher without introducing other problems.

One common problem is feedback.  Simply put, feedback is when the microphone “hears” the sound coming from the speaker, which it then tries to amplify, which then comes out of the speaker into the mic, which it then tries to amplify…  Getting confused?  Yeah, that’s why the speakers squeal in frustration.  Try to remember not to place or hold a microphone where it will directly “hear” the sound coming from a speaker, and you should be fine.  However, the higher you have to boost the microphone volume (to compensate for a small voice, or for not holding it close enough, etc.), the greater the chance that the mic will also “hear” the sound coming from the speaker.  These are all reasons why you should keep the mic as close to the voice as possible, so only the voice is amplified and not extraneous sounds that can cause problems. 

Body mics are another animal with their own set of woes, but usually work better on stage because they are so close to the performer.  They also generally have a larger pickup pattern (think lantern instead of flashlight), which is why they can be placed on a cheek, at a hairline, or on a lapel and still work well.  The biggest issues?  Change batteries often and have fresh ones at the ready just in case, leave the pack turned on (don't mute it - you may forget to unmute it, and then you're sunk), be kind to the pack and cords (no dropping, kinking), and don’t place it where hair or clothing will brush the mic. 

When you’re properly heard, no one thinks about the sound system.  They only think about the performance.  That’s as it should be - no technical distractions.  Can you hear me now?

My Servant Joseph

I’m taking a slight departure from my own tradition – that of naming each post with the title of a Broadway show tune.  (You figured that out, right?)  Today’s post is the title of a song,  but not from a Broadway show.  It is from the show I was just involved in, so I decided it was appropriate. 

When I started this blog, it was before I even auditioned this show.  Now it is done, after just five short performances, where it was seen by roughly 1,000 people.  It was the only time I can recall repeating a show I’ve directed before.  It is a reader’s theater, actually, not necessarily designed to be staged with as much attention as we recently gave it.  The last time I did this one, about 10 years ago, it was only minimally costumed, had narrators who sat to the side and read from their scripts, and a small choir.  Nevertheless, it was well received as a powerful and uplifting religious presentation.  The memories from that previous version influenced my choices for the current show.  I hope they influenced them in the right way.

How do you attempt to make magic twice?  There is sometimes a temptation in theater to copy, copy, copy.  I’ve done that myself.  Why reinvent the wheel?  Why not do what you’ve done before?  Better yet, why not do what the pros have done, or at least borrow heavily?  I’ve heard creativity defined as not revealing your sources.  When others have spent time, money and energy researching and rehearsing and tweaking, why not benefit from their efforts?  There can be little bits and gags that are worth incorporating, and other elements that are so well known, the show doesn’t seem complete without them.  It is sometimes safer to go with what is expected, what is familiar.  It takes a little more nerve, and can be more of a risk, to go down a new road.  But, sometimes the risk is worth it. 

For My Servant Joseph, I was dealing with my own memories of a very special event, while trying to encourage a new cast, most of whom were new to the material.  We had some resources I didn’t have before, including a large stage and a good budget, but I didn’t want to just drop the previous show into a more elaborate setting. 

I do think a change should be a thoughtful improvement, not just a random difference, and a new set of performers need the freedom to create their performances without the expectation to simply mimic a predecessor.  By (mostly) resisting the urge to mold the new in the image of the old, I was able to pump up the volume (with enhanced sound design, sets, lights, props, full costumes, choir members as narrators and suggestions of multiple locations) and be a part of another very special event.  Thanks to everyone involved, and all who came to support it.  Well done.

I Dreamed a Dream

I guess everybody has anxiety dreams.  There are the classics, like dreaming of being in school and not being ready for a test, or not even knowing what the subject is. There's the dream of realizing you have no clothes on.  Ha!  These are for amateurs!  I have compared notes with other performers, and we seem to have our own particular brand of panic inducing gifts from Queen Mab.  

I find myself onstage, stuck in the middle of a scene that is vaguely familiar, but totally unrehearsed.   There is an audience, of course, so I can't just leave.  I'm not sure if others around me know what they're supposed to be doing, but I do my uncomfortable best to fake it.  Now, even at my most awake, I'm not very good at ad-libbing.  I have friends who can make up lyrics on the spot - rhyming, no less - and never miss a beat. Not me.  I wish I could.  No, I need a script, a specific plan.  Once that plan is in place, I can adjust and adapt, but in these dreams there is no plan.  All I am really aware of is the need to entertain and the inability to gracefully get off the stage.  I know no lines, I have no blocking, I am stuck.  And I am quite sure the audience isn't buying a moment of it.

I have a show opening next week.  Six days.  I am confident it will go well.  The cast is strong, the support crew experienced and reliable.  Nevertheless, I rarely make it through an opening without a crazy dream or two reminding me that things can go terribly wrong if there is a lack of preparation. 

Tonight we do a costume check.  In a couple of days we move into the performance venue, bring in the set and set the lights.  We’ll check out the sound system, work with the mics, adjust our blocking as needed.  I’ll position myself in the orchestra pit, hoping the choral members can actually see me from the stage.  I’ll send six skirts off to be hemmed by a much appreciated volunteer and get the eight borrowed hooped petticoats out of my back seat.  Details, just details, but all important ones – all things that someone needs to attend to so the audience can sit back and enjoy the performance.

Lorne Michaels, of Saturday Night Live fame, was loosely quoted as saying, “The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready; it goes on because it’s eleven-thirty.”  That could be the mantra for all live theater, not just live television.  The lights go down, the curtain goes up, and there you are, ready or not.   It’s enough to give you nightmares, but it is also the stuff of dreams.

I Feel Pretty

Time flies when you're having fun.  Or when you're up to your eyeballs in theater projects.  It has been so long since my last post, so this one is a bit longer than usual.  I've been too busy doing to write about doing!

One of the tasks that often falls in my lap, sometimes by default, is costuming.  I am currently in a familiar mode.  Costumes are in various stages of completion and scattered all around the house.  I found someone willing to hem the 6 full skirts that are yet to be completed, but I have more work to do before I can get the skirts to her.  The tops are mostly done - mostly.  I've saved the hardest for last, probably because the progress is slowest with the more difficult pieces.  

I have a love hate relationship with costuming.  I am glad I know how to sew.  I would never go back to not having a serger and am loving my new dress form (since I am not the same size as everyone I sew for and trying things on repeatedly gets a bit tedious). However, I am not a confident designer, so I second guess every choice until a garment is completed.  Endless combinations of fabrics, patterns and trims swirl through my brain like a mad scientist trying to develop some magic elixir.  But the magic I seek is visual.  And since I can only dream what it would be like to throw down a piece of fabric and attack it with just imagination, scissors and a french curve (that's a design tool, right?), I am limited to using tissue paper patterns that I adapt and combine with an odd a blend of mathematical precision and reckless abandon.   I've developed a somewhat misplaced confidence in my ability to make any length of fabric somehow be enough for my design.  That means I've also developed some interesting skills at piecing together scraps.

I am learning as I go, however.  I have to fight my natural tendency, when costuming, to make clothing that is too street worthy.  I have come to realize that the best costumes are often a little bigger than life.  Wilder colors, extreme shapes, fanciful trims.  It depends upon the theme of the show, of course.  There is a place for understated and true to life, but an outfit that will likely be seen from a minimum of twenty feet away often needs to pop, needs to look like a costume.   Everything doesn't need sequins and beads, but there are certainly appropriate times to go for a big impact.   

The show I am currently costuming is set in middle America in the 1830s - 1840s.  It is still pre-civil war, pre-Victorian, but not prairie or frontier clothing.  Wedged somewhere between  the elegance of a feathered chapeau and the down home casualness of a calico bonnet, I've found skirts, blouses, vests and bodices that I hope will all appear unique, interesting, and fairly true to the period - or at least what is perceived for that period.  Oh yes, did I mention it all has to be done within a budget of less than $40 per outfit?  

What would theater be like if we had unlimited budgets, throngs of skilled and willing volunteers and (while I'm dreaming) endless queues of  patrons with bulging wallets? I'll probably never know, and don't have too much time to worry about it.  I've got sewing to do. 

The Music of the Night

One of the tech tools I like is Power Point.  Yep, the go-to software for sales presentations and school reports.  I found an unconventional use for it in the theater - sound effects for a play I directed last year.  It had dozens of sound cues, many of them very short and critically timed.  I created a PP presentation, one slide per sound, and it worked out beautifully.  I plugged my laptop into the sound board, and the sound operator was able to advance the slides, each with the appropriate sound attached, according to the cues which were also written on the slides (“cue for next sound …”).  The sounds can be set to play automatically when the slide advances, so one click, and the sound effect is played.  No struggling in semi-darkness for the stop button on a CD player, no rapid advancing of tracks when cues are spaced closely together.  I also created a video for the preshow music, embedded in a slide (visible only to the light and sound techs),  so it would indicate exactly when the lights were to dim, when they should go to blackout, etc., during the music.  Not that I’m particular …

I hadn’t initially planned to use it that way.  I set it up for rehearsal purposes in a new theater when other equipment wasn’t readily available (and when I was curious to see if such a plan would work).  Then I discovered it was easier to insert or edit one slide at a time than always burning a new CD each time there were changes.  And I make lots of changes!

I’m sure there is software out there specifically designed to work this way, but I already had PP, knew basically how to use it, and was able to clearly indicate cues for sound techs who may not be too familiar with the show.  For shows with typical songs and underscores, it would not be any better than standard methods (CD, minidisc, MP3 playback, whatever), but for this one, it was a great option.

I also used Power Point for a choral program, presented on a small stage that was little more than a white (yes, white) box.  Instead of using it for sound cues, I used it as a slide show behind the performers.  One wall became the screen, and a musical presentation that would have otherwise been fairly static, became more visually interesting.  There’s nothing novel about using PP for a slide show, but it was a simple way to add an interesting backdrop in a casual theatrical setting when resources were limited.  

Make Believe

I spend a lot of time with music editing.  It’s a strange hobby that has fascinated me for decades.  In my last post, I talked a little bit about some of the kinds of things I’ve done.  Since my purpose in this blog is partly to share ideas that others might find useful, let me dig into some of the techie aspects of theater and performance that I find so interesting, and which I realize may cause someone else’s eyes to glaze over.  Sorry.

I've been interested in sound reinforcement and editing ever since college, when I took a course in “theater sound” as part of a short lived dream to be a recording engineer.  I remember sitting in a lab with a reel to reel (ask your grandparents) trying to splice something in just the right place.  Now I do it with such ease at the computer.  I can’t count the number of people who I’ve worked with on recording projects who have been amazed with how easily sound can be manipulated.  It’s why we have popular singers who can’t actually sing, but that’s another story.

Fast forward several years, to when I took a community college class on recording techniques.  When a friend of a friend, who happened to be a professional sound engineer, came to class with me one day, I got the gold star for best show and tell.  Since he had worked on the Salt Lake City Olympics, they wanted to know how they managed to get teeny tiny microphones on the ice skates in the opening sequence to pick up the sound of the blades gliding across the ice.  The teacher of the class was quite disappointed to learn that the sounds had been prerecorded.  Yes, even live TV uses theatrical tricks.

When I directed Jane Eyre a few years ago, several of the chorus members were used as narrators.  With limited resources (not enough body mics) and a large theater to fill, I wondered if they could be heard while speaking over a musical underscoring.  I prerecorded all their dialogue and put it on the track.  Then they spoke along with their own voice during the performance.  I don’t think anyone suspected it, and the narration could be clearly heard.

Another time I was running sound for a very casual musical review.  This was a lighthearted church production, with an enthusiastic, if not terribly well trained cast.  When they repeatedly struggled with knowing where to start singing after an extended narration (a twist on the song “Tradition” from Fiddler), we cheated.  I recorded them singing the first few words and blended it in with the track.  Since it was their voices already, no one was the wiser, they had more confidence, and it sounded like they knew what they were doing.  Yes, sometimes theater is all about the illusion!