Thursday, August 12, 2010            The Icepack Cometh

I skyped with my friend David this morning. During our hour-long conversation I iced my shoulder (I have a sprain of the right acromium-clavicular joint), my shin (in the ballet lesson in Boogie yesterday the spinning chair spun out of Jacob’s hand, and danced with my leg, scraping off the skin and leaving me with two nasty blue goose-eggs), and the balls of my feet (I go through periods of arthritic pain, mostly in the right large toe joint). By the time I’d finished icing the feet, I went back to the shoulder to start again. But to be honest... I am doing REALLY well! (Touch wood).

I have developed a new respect for Broadway performers, and for dancers particularly, who commit to a long term of repetitive movement as a profession. It’s rough. Like professional athletes, our bodies are our tools, our hard-drives, our instruments. Throwing that arm up in the air three times during a number may seem like the easiest of tasks, but when you do it eight times a week for a year... well, your body asks you to stop. And not politely. So imagine the men in the ensemble and the work they do in Solidarity, and in the Riot! They are fighting, and falling, and twisting, and lifting... eight times a week, and some of them for two years steady now.

My colleagues work with pain in their bodies on a daily basis (C.K. is doing eight shows a week with a broken bone in his ankle!). And when one person goes down, everyone is affected. It’s not easy to watch your friends and colleagues fall to injury. Serious injury (and we have a few company members off with serious injuries right now) means visits to doctors, MRIs, physio-therapy, even surgery, but most significantly, time off work. This is a nightmare in any profession, in any town, but in New York, with the insanity of the cost of living... well the stress of the physical pain is exacerbated by the stress of the day to day. Thank God for insurance, and for an extremely helpful and supportive production team, who help arrange services and organise claims and time away. But as with any workplace injury, there is a loss of income, an incapacity to work, and the physical and emotional stress that comes with that. And those of us that are left standing, singing and dancing, can only share our support, our prayers, and our longing for the recovery and return of our dear friends.

There is a bright side. The “family” of Billy Elliot keeps deep roots, and when the need arises, the prodigal return. David Eggers was back onstage this week. Comedy. He left the show exactly one week ago to be the primary care-giver for his son, Sam... but we were short men (not due only to injury, but also to holiday time, and some of our folks leaving to rehearse for the Second National Tour of BE) so David was called back. He’s not the only one, as I think I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, but one week off was the shortest turn around I’ve seen.

David Bologna left us at the end of last week, after spending his summer vacation from school back on Broadway. And to fill in for him, Gabe Rush has joined us as Michael from the Chicago company. We have some new folks, too... Jeremy Davis is a swing (he’s been on every show since his put-in), and Brad Nacht made his Broadway debut as Big Davey, and is fitting in splendidly! So along with the pain, comes the gain of bright new faces, and fresh, vital energy. And still and all... through the icepacks, through the splints, and through the physio-tape... the show must go on.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010        Butterflies

On occasion we will have question and answer sessions after the show with specific groups. A question that is almost inevitably asked is: do you still get nervous?

As actors, the work we do for a living is entirely unnerving. In Billy Elliot we stand on stage in front of 1400 people each night; people who have saved their money to make a holiday in New York; people who have spent an average of more than a hundred dollars to see our play; people who have read the extraordinary reviews, who have heard the word-of-mouth praise, and who rightly enough have expectations of no less than excellence.

Nervous?! Yikes.

It is our job and our responsibility to come up to those expectations. Now how does that make you feel in your tummy? A little queasy, maybe? And how do we steady that queasiness in order to head out of the dark wings and onto the bright stage without barfing? Well, we each have our ways I suppose, but for me... ritual and discipline.

I am an eternal believer in personal discipline. I am at the theatre an hour and a half before every show to warm-up with the Billys. We do a limbering sequence, and a ballet barre. I then do a vocal warm-up on my own, and join the boys ten minutes later on the stage for a tap warm-up and a little skipping. Now, you may think... well, that is necessary for this very physical show. Yes and no. I could absolutely do this show without a warm-up (and did once early on in the run because I forgot that the Tuesday night curtain was at 7 o'clock and not 8! Imagine my dismay when I arrived for warm-up only to hear the announcement of the half-hour call!), but I wouldn't dare now because it has become part of the ritual of my work, and as such it provides me a level of security and comfort in a job that is morbidly petrifying. (Apparently, an actor has enough adrenaline coursing through their veins while they are onstage to bring about a heart attack in the average human. We would fare relatively well if pursued by a bear.)

Now I won't bore you with the list of my other rituals: little games and songs with the children, punching stagehands, stepping on toes, paging curtains, waving from the wings during the finale... suffice it to say Carole Shelley laughs at me, because what began as a little nightly visit to her dressing room to see how her day was, is now part of my routine that cannot be left out, even if time is of the essence. Silly? Sure. And I can laugh at myself, but I still feel better if I have all my little touchstones in a row. And if I feel secure and safe in these ritual elements, I can get out there on that stage night after night and give the people what they are wanting to see. That's my job. And I love my job.

So I was delighted the other day when in warm-up Liam balked when asked to change positions at the barre: "I can't," he said, " I won't have a good show if I don't warm-up right here!" Oh thank god I'm not the only neurotic in the group! To find that even a fifteen year old doing his first major role finds his rituals comforting is somehow... well... comforting. Bless.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010        Lord, the Drama.


Quite a week.

A little prologue to begin: David Bologna, who was nominated for a Tony when he originated the role of Michael in Billy Elliot on Broadway, has come back to join us for the summer. He is smashing! A great kid... an EXTRAORDINARY talent. This week he, and Tessa Netting (Susan Parkes) and Trent Kowalik (retired Billy) went off on a long planned trip to Harry Potter Land at Disney World in Florida. How I would love to be a fly on the wall!

So.

Kylend Hetherington, who has played our Tall Boy for the last 8 months or so, and who is leaving us to go and play Billy on the Second National Tour, will be stepping up to play Michael for his final week here in NYC. This is a thrill for him! Kylend and I have developed a special bond, as we are both “K.H.”s. We have a daily chat between my last scene and the finale in which we talk about all things from him missing his dog back in Michigan, to the profound difficulty of math tests, to the intense satisfaction of expressing oneself through contemporary dance. Oh yeah. And he’s 12.

Shoot. I’m crying already.

Act One.

Wednesday we have two shows. We’re all well rested and jovial from the long weekend off. Kylend steps up to do Michael and is most excellent. Undaunted, beyond energetic, and really learning to finesse this part.

Thursday we have two young girls from the Make-A-Wish Foundation join us on the Broadway stage, Allison, who comes from Ohio, and Lily, who comes from the outskirts of Buffalo. Both live with cystic fibrosis, and it has been their “wish” to be in Billy Elliot. A special rehearsal is called, and they are “put-in” to several of the group scenes. They do a warm-up with the Ballet Girls, they have a place in the dressing room complete with costumes and quick changes. At the interval they come and sit in my dressing room, and we have a little chat while I sit on the floor remarking on how much fun it will be to get back home and tell the kids at school. At the end of the play they wear their tutus in the curtain call and are each given bouquets by the Small Boys. When the curtain drops, the company gives them a huge round of applause, and these two little bewildered faces are too overwhelmed even to raise a smile. What a dream come true for them and their families.

In the meantime, on the stairs where I usually meet with Kylend to have our nightly news... Jake Schwenke has told me that Kylend is hurt. At first I can’t believe it, and I’m sure that our sly little Schwenkmeister is pulling my leg. But no. A freak, and oh so ironic accident has occurred. While practicing safe landings from jumps (yup) Kylend has uncannily torn off his toenail and broken his big toe. My heart cracks.

From home that night, I send him a quick email, with some bolstering words and happy thoughts, still not knowing the extent of the injury or the prognosis for recovery. I say a little prayer. How will this effect his dreams of playing Billy?

Lord, the drama.

Act Two.

When I get into work on Friday, I dash to the Stage Management office. Kylend will be coming in tonight to say goodbye. Thank God. I need the closure. When I make my way up the stairs from my second act scene with Dad, greeting me on the landing is our forlorn little one on crutches, with a sassy navy-blue boot, and a tear-stained face. The news is relatively good, even though it all looks so unbearable. It will be a couple of weeks before he can dance on it again, but since he was scheduled for a full weeks holiday at home in Michigan before he begins rehearsals, his training should be only slightly delayed. Whew. The poor dog won’t get much running... but it looks like Kylend’s dream is not shattered. Prayers are answered. When the curtain drops after the finale this night we sing a special “Happy Trails” to our broken Tall Boy, with many tears and many cheers of love and encouragement for his recovery. His poor mother stands helplessly in the wings, weeping.

Now, you may think that is all you can take of this week’s episode... but the excitement does not end here. Oh no. There is an epilogue to this compelling scene.

Since Kylend’s injury, Jake Schwenke has gone on for Michael at every show. Dayton Tavares - you know him as one of our Australian Billys, but unbeknownst to many his is also a Michael understudy - has been standing-by for Jake. On Sunday afternoon, to give Dayton his due, and Jake his break, Michael comes to us from the land of Oz. Not only that, but Mike Dameski is on as Billy, so it is an Oz double-team effort! A celebratory moment to be sure. Cast and crew members even sneak into a little vestibule at the side of the stage to watch the two boys do “Express” through the curtain, an opportunity which in all likelihood will never be repeated. All the while, our audience hasn’t a clue about the strange and dramatic series of events that creates this precious moment of Billy Elliot history.

July 7th, 2010      

Sometimes one speaks too soon. So remember a couple of weeks ago when I said the weather was yummy and perfect and breezy and enjoyable... well, I should know better than to say nice things about the weather. Manhattan has been a frying pan for the last five days. I'm serious. I didn't do the ‘fry the egg on the sidewalk’ test but I have no doubt that not only would I have been successful, it would have been a three minute egg! Whew! And though we could not survive without air conditioning, it does feel like you are walking out of the stove and into the fridge when you enter the shops, the museums, and gratefully, the apartment building.

This weekend I had my first Fourth of July in the U.S. of A! What a thrilling experience. We had three days off from the show, and my friend Pam came down from Toronto. We started with a trip to the Guggenheim Museum, where I had three memorable voyeuristic experiences. It started with a painting in the Thannhauser collection by one of my personal favourites, Toulouse Lautrec. I love his outrageous use of colour, and the intimacy of the world he shares... the unbridled vivacity of it. Then there was a small exhibit of works of enormous scale by an Ethiopian artist named Julie Mehretu. She works on gigantic  canvases (each of the six or seven works were easily 9 by 11 feet) with impeccable architectural detail coupled with washes of muted tones, blacks and greys, and whole areas that are smudged and dreamlike. Thirdly, the hero of the day, Frank Lloyd Wright. It was my first time inside this miracle of a building, a true celebration of his vision for American architecture. Cool.

Then suddenly hot. Stepping out into the scorching heat, we made our way down Madison Avenue in search of a spot to grab something to eat and drink. Like an oasis on the shimmering sand, there was the magnificent Dean and Deluca. What a palace of riches in the fast food desert. This ain't no cheap meat. We each grabbed some yummies, threw them in a paper bag, and headed into Central Park. Miraculously, just as we were sauntering into a canopied meadow, a picnic table was vacated by it's tenants, and we buzzed right in to take advantage. Perfect! A picnic in the Park on Independence Day. And in the shade!

In the evening... well, let's just say we had a very special event. Through a "connection" we managed to get to the 28th floor of a building in midtown that had a nearly unobstructed view of the Hudson. So at 9:25pm, when the Macy's Fourth of July fireworks began, Pam and I were sitting in leather chairs, looking out the window practically eye-level with the "bombs bursting in air". A spectacular display that took place in three movements. The second movement, a sort of andante, had some unbelievable tricks. It was like they had turned the fireworks into slow motion somehow. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the bursting forth of these swatches of brilliant colour that proceeded to hang in the air and melt for what seemed like almost a minute. How do they do that?! How do they make the cubes, or the orbs with saturn-like rings, or the shimmering sequin blasts? Explosive art.

The walk home up 9th Avenue was a little frightening at times, just because of the sheer volume of people heading toward the subway from the Hudson. We’d get caught in these cross-drafts that threatened to pull us over to Broadway. But we battled through. Even got an ice-cream cone in the saturating heat. And made it up to Lincoln Centre to listen to a little bit of the public piano playing that has been going on recently in the City. Sixty pianos have been placed in public spots reading, “Play Me, I’m Yours...” ... and people do. And others gather to listen. And on a hot night in the City, after a full day of Independence... there’s nothing like a little ad hoc community gathering around a piano, with a little song and a little dance. A Happy Fourth!

Tuesday, June 29, 2010    Swing It

I want to talk about Brianna Fragomeni. Brianna is a thirteen year old girl from New Jersey (don’t quote me). She is 4’7” and weighs 80 pounds. She has won several national dance competitions, has the brightest blue eyes, a disarming brazenness, and is one of three Ballet Girl swings, along with Chelsea Galembo and Heather Tepe.

Here’s the concept of a swing: you show up to the theatre for every show, you know every track in the ensemble (that’s eleven parts for these girls!) and you never know when you’ll be going on or in which role. “JUST SHOOT ME” erupts unsurreptitiously from  my lips!

In this last week Brianna has gone on as Julie Hope, Margaret Gormley, and Tracey Atkinson. And this is where she blows my mind: not only is Brianna incredibly capable of adjusting the choreography to each character’s place in the spacing-- from leading in the lines of traffic to following, from dancing in the front row stage right to the back row third from centre... oh yeah, all those details that would be completely lost on a 47 year old-- but she inhabits each of these characters fully. She knows who they are, what their attitudes are to different people on the stage, and of course she knows all the lines! and booms them forth with unmistakeable ownership! And did I mention she’s hilarious? She is a natural comedienne, and her young, sharp wit punches through any fear she may have. But I’m sure she has no fear. At least none that I’ve ever seen. Oh, and as if all that is not quite enough, she understudies the role of Debbie, too, and is brilliant at it. This chick, I’m tellin’ ya.

Now, all this lauding of Brianna is not to take away from Chelsea and Heather, who both do exactly the same thing. And there are other swings in the company: David Eggers, David Koch, Robbie Roby, M.J. Slinger, Greg Graham, Cara Kjellman, and Nathalie Wisdom are the swings for the adult ensemble. And in a show that is this physical and this long-running, they are performing almost every night in one track or another. That is how the show goes on. I have SO MUCH RESPECT for these people I cannot tell you. The stress of their jobs is not to be underestimated.

Stage management coordinates all this, making the casting decisions before each show in consultation with the resident director and choreographer, and the dance captains. Then an OUT/IN list is posted on the call-board so that as the cast enters to sign-in we can see who will be performing in the coming show. Very rapidly and efficiently inserts are printed for the front of house programs, and the ushers huddle at their stations inserting these adjustments into the Playbills. In addition, an announcement is made backstage over the tannoy at the half-hour to confirm the situation. If there are truly "last minute" changes, a public announcement is made in the house before the curtain.

The result of all this work (and of the work of the leading role understudies and covers, which is a completely different ball of wax) is that if someone in the company has shin splints, or a tooth infection, or a sick relative... not only does the show go on, but it goes on in extraordinarily skilled hands... and feet... and voices.

Ch-ch-ch-changes. And in that vein I must make mention of some special goings and comings this week. With many tears, and voluminous floral bouquets, we said goodbye on Sunday night to Izzy Hanson-Johnston (Debbie), Luke Trevisan (Small Boy), to Kyle DesChamps (swing and fight captain), and to the inimitable Aaron Kaburik (ensemble). The next night! we said hello to Aly Brier (Julie Hope [Ava DeMary moves to Allison Summers, and Georgi James becomes Debbie]), Alex Dreier (Small Boy), M.J. Slinger (swing) and Jimmy Smagula (ensemble).

How constantly things change, and how truly miraculously... the show stays the same.

June 22nd,2010        Bloody, Bloody

Summer is here! It has been beautiful in NYC: not too hot, not too humid, but perfectly sunny and gorgeous. The farmers markets are back on the street corners, the Park is lush and green, and in the evenings after work the breeze off the Hudson greets me as I make my way from the Broadway bus home to my apartment. At the Imperial Theatre we have switched into our summer schedule. That means eight shows in five days: two Wednesday, one Thursday, one Friday, two Saturday, and two Sunday. Whew!

The bonus at the culmination of these intense weeks is two full days off. Monday remains a sacrosanct day for rest, but my bus-man's holiday has switched from Wednesday night to Tuesday night, upon which I valiantly make my occasional trips to the theatre.
 
A few weeks ago you'll remember I went to see the American Ballet Theatre with Liam. What fun we had! The following week I took Jacob, Mikey, and Alex to the New York City Ballet to see a mixed program. We saw two Ballanchine ballets, Danses Concertantes and Brahms-Schoenberg Quartet, and the brand new ballet, Estancia, by Christopher Wheeldon. Wheeldon's work blows me away. I so love the innovative ways that he moves bodies through space, and the way that he expresses the intimacies of relationship within his pas de deux. Brilliant! Every time I see his work I just want to see more, more, MORE!

The boys were so excited. Neither Mikey nor Alex had ever been to the ballet before, and Jacob had only gone in his hometown. So it was pretty grand for us to make our way to Lincoln Centre to see this internationally recognized company and the second ever public performance of a brand new work! I feel both a great sense of honour and of responsibility introducing these amazing young artists to other varieties of their art! Pretty thrilling.

Then last Tuesday I took Dayton downtown to the Public Theatre to see an irreverent musical called Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson. I wasn't sure what to expect. I had heard varying reports, but was encouraged by the fact that the show had been extended twice. The Public Theatre is housed in the old Astor Library, so the building itself is a New York landmark. Dayton and I wandered around a bit, as we were a little early, and learned what we could about the history of the building and its architecture. Then we were shown into a performance space that was completely decked out in elements of the set design. There were period chandeliers and gold framed portraits of nineteenth century American gentry; there were various mounted antlered heads and stuffed rodents, and piles of historical rubbish, all festooned with twinkle lights and other ambient lighting fixtures. The whole feeling was one of anachronism.

Now, Dayton is from Australia and I am from Canada, so we weren't sure if we would need some background information about former President Jackson to understand the play. But once this wacky entertainment began we realised that we would be told all we needed to know, even if what we learned would likely not help us pass any kind of history class. To say the tone was irreverent would be an understatement. For anyone who has seen any of Michael Hollingsworth's History of the Village of Small Huts, it was in this satiric flavour that our education was granted us. Hilarious, sometimes sophomoric, occasionally horrifying, often instructive, always with tongue firmly planted in cheek, and entirely accompanied by an awesome rock and roll score... well, didn't we have a total blast!! The cast was exceptional! All of them great singers and sly comics! And they gave us a lot to think about in terms of this particularly troubling period in American history. Kudos are definitely due to Benjamin Walker who played Jackson, and to the composer Michael Friedman, and the band!

Possibly my favourite moment was the one they left us with. Throughout the play characters had been struck by sudden and violent death (in the spirit of Monty Python), and this was an ongoing theme of the play. As the piece de resistance, one of the actors was "killed" in the curtain call, and left dead on the stage, while the cast, the band, and the audience all filed out of the theatre. A startling image to leave us with, and a pretty cool way for the whole night to end.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Canadian celebrity... is a bit of an oxymoron. We don’t really have stars. And if we do - and I’m talking about real national stars not just the local cult-worshiped used car dealership commercial guy who points at you sixteen times in the course of a 30 second spot - they’re generally anarchic people like comedian Rick Mercer, or novelist Margaret Atwood, or (may the world forgive us) hockey commentator Don Cherry. For example, when our main television network ran a contest a few years back looking for the Greatest Canadian, the top ten nominees in the English speaking category included 4 politicians, 3 scientists, 2 hockey personalities, and a marathon running hero. The winner... was Tommy Douglas: the “father of Medicare”. Does that put things in perspective? Oh, we’ve got some music and sports idols that are pretty much household names, but we don’t have movie stars or TV stars, certainly not in the way they do in the U.S. of A.

So when a call goes up on the loudspeaker system backstage at the Imperial Theatre that there is a “star” waiting on deck for anyone in the company who would like to meet them... well, I always feel a bit... awkward. I think... oh, those poor people. Don’t they have enough trouble just getting groceries, or going to the movies? Do they really need people like me trying to get my photo taken with them? I get... shy.

Now, I’m not trying to take anything away from my cast-mates who dash down from the dressing rooms with unbridled enthusiasm! Really. The kids (and Thommie Retter!) always get so excited to see folks like Sarah Jessica Parker or Betsey Johnson or Cate Winslett... and who can blame them. It’s not that I’m not excited that they’re in the house, or on the stage willing to meet us... it’s that... I’m CANADIAN! And, well, it just feels... a bit... brazen. A bit... foreign.

But what I have come to realise is... THOSE CELEBRITIES WANT TO BE THERE! No one is forcing Betsey Johnson to sign the many items of clothing that the young folks bring to her. Is it generous of her? YOU BET! Does she seem to be having a blast? That, too.

Long and short. I came downstairs the other Saturday night to hand my dressing room key to Richie the Stage Door Guy... and standing there in our very humble vestibule is... Arthur Fonzarelli. Yup. The Fonz. Not just a celebrity, but let’s face it, a cultural icon. THE FONZ! I mean, I watched Happy Days religiously with my family all through the 1970s. We knew those people: Howard and Marion, Richie and Joanie, Potsie and Ralph. And now, here’s Henry Winkler with his wife Stacey, completely unassuming and unannounced, just telling our cast as they are leaving the building how much they enjoyed the show. This man is so gracious, so generous, so genuinely moved by our little play... never once drawing attention to himself... and there’s me, and all I can think is... I’m talking to Arthur Fonzarelli. THE FONZ! And he liked me in the play!!! I must be COOL!

Okay. That’s not all I thought. In fact, the whole experience... the absolute humanity of the man... of Henry Winkler... made me consider that all these stars who come to see Billy Elliot are just people who love the theatre and want to be moved and entertained just like the rest of us. And I should be just as happy to meet them after the show as I am happy to meet the kids who came a couple of weeks ago on a school trip from North Bay, or the group who came last week from a local Manhattan synagogue. People of all kinds, and from all places, need theatre.

So thanks Mr. Winkler. I will not feel so intimidated by the next celebrity who comes to see us. Thanks for the little life lesson. Whoa!

Tuesday, June 8, 2010        “Get Behind the Fat Lass...!”   

Imagine, if you will, that you are a woman of forty-seven. And a half. And that for the past 10 months you have been playing eight squash games a week with a fourteen year old boy. On a hill. In heels. Dressed for winter.

In addition to this, you walk up and down three flights of stairs to your dressing room at the very least eight times a day (on the double header days it’s pretty much twenty times). And in order to keep your body fit for this activity, you do six hours a week of warming up, an hour of pilates, and at least 20 minutes of arduous physio-therapy.

Weight loss may spring to mind. Indeed. I have lost 2 full dress sizes without trying. In fact I can eat about 500 more calories a day than I did a year ago, and still maintain my new slim figure. This means that I have had to buy a completely new wardrobe for both  summer and winter. (Forced to shop for clothes in New York City! Curses...!)

Fitness is also a bonus by-product. My cardio-vascular system could not be happier. When I come off stage from Born to Boogie, I am often gasping for air. But within the 30 second quick-change that follows, my heart rate slows and my breathing quickly returns to normal. The only telltale sign of activity when I return to the stage a minute later are the buckets of sweat that are now saturating my skin and all my clothing. 

On the down side... Everybody Hurts is my daily theme song. Warm-ups can become a moaning contest between me and the boys. Hamstrings are particularly effected by the raked stage, as are knees, and lower backs. Oh, and calves, lest we forget calves. So we each complain about a tight this, or a painful that. But whereas for the boys their bodies are young, and they make adjustments to their choreography and alter their work patterns in the three days between their shows (not that they don’t hurt, believe me! they hurt!), for me the true culprit is cruel recurring time.

The repetitive nature of this job has me currently suffering with tendonitis in both elbows (from an eight bar section of boxing that I do in Boogie: it seems ridiculous, but I did it wrong a couple of times when I returned from my holiday in April and with eight shows a week it has no opportunity to repair itself...). My sacro-iliac joint keeps jamming, causing tightness in my back and my left hamstring. I also have tendon issues in both knees, and my left ankle. None of this is debilitating, but its cumulative effect is that I sit on the couch a lot on my days off, rather than taking in this amazing city: the idea of walking for miles as a means of respite is not a tantalising one.

The good news is the sterno-clavicular sprain that I acquired in rehearsals last September is showing great improvement thanks mostly to my pilates instruction (I am learning how to properly use my seratus muscles! who knew!). The Osgood-Schlatters disease (a knee condition which is purportedly only found in pubescent boys, but which I seem to miraculously share with them through some kind of sympathy) has settled down since I stopped doing grande plies. This, along with the issues I was having with both big-toe joints in my feet, which are also showing marked recovery (I do daily stretches with a yoga block that feel like a rare form of torture but seem to have a positive outcome!).

At the end of the day, from beneath the ice-packs and the arnica gel, I think... well... maybe I could have a new career post-BE, touring North America with Mrs. Wilkinson’s  Mid-Life Diet and Exercise Program: “Get Behind the Fat Lass... and Keep Smilin’!!”.

Monday, May 31, 2010      

“New York, New York... it’s a Wonderful Town!...” It’s Fleet Week in New York City!  It was Wednesday when I first noticed a parade of sailors, all in uniform, traipsing along 46th Street toward Times Square. And everyday since I’ve been looking for Frank Sinatra, Gene Kelly and... who was that third guy anyway...? (Jules Munshin. Remember him? Ah... fame is fleeting... ... ha, ha!) But I’m afraid I’m a little old to be playing Miss Turnstiles.

I was kinda hoping we’d have a great hoard of sailors in the theatre one day, and raucousness would ensue, but Billy Elliot is not exactly the fare most of them are hungry for. Sailors of all descriptions all over midtown: some in beige and blue, most in white (like the crisp, polite pair from Halifax that were helping an old fella off the bus I was riding), and some in the traditional tunic, navy tie, trousers, and little round cap (the same uniform my Johnny the Sailor doll had in 1967, purchased in New York Harbour when my family and I passed through NYC on furlough). Most of them so young! Women sailors, too, though very few. And after the show at night, hearing them in the Playwrights’ Pub singing karaoke with shocking confidence, the caterwaul spilling through the open doors into the recent summer heat; or chatting with local girls on the sidewalk patio, both parties looking simultaneously exhilarated and timid. Such classic images of the Navy landing in town. Fantastic.

With the advent of Memorial Day, summer is definitely in the City. The sidewalks and shops of 8th Avenue are packed, and any number of accents can be heard seeking directions. I passed one of the tour-bus operators trying to hand a flyer to a confused woman: “Bus ride?” “No. Actually, I’m looking for the Empire State Building”... At 8th and 46th?! I thought, “Honey... get on the bus! It’ll take you right past it, and that’ll be the best way to see it this weekend. Better than a three hour line-up to get inside!” After ten months here, I'm so New York savvy!

More friends came all the way from Calgary, Alberta to see me this weekend: Eleanor, a friend that I did a show with when I was fifteen! She and her family had a blast doing the New York thing! The tourists don’t mind the tourists, and they were so impressed with the patience and grace of the New Yorkers in the service industries: hotels, restaurants, tour operators: they were treated so well.

Two of our ballet girls left this week: Sam and Meg, both of them having been with the show since the very beginning. As Marina and Tessa were saying their “good last show” to Meg last night, I told them about my friend Eleanor being in the house... and that the relationships that we form as young women in the theatre can last through a lifetime. Nice to be able to share that experience with them. Still... great floods of tears, flowers, and “Happy Trails”.  

And, oh, lest we forget... the Gangsta is back! Dayton had his first show back from injury on Sunday afternoon. What a kid. He ripped it! Sweating like a horse on a hot day at the track, he held nothing back. Such an honour to work with a kid who is not only so talented, but so generous, so stylin’, and... oh let’s face it... so 100% cush. Yippee!

May 25th, 2010         

On Wednesday evening Liam and I went to the American Ballet Theatre. We were both pretty pumped about it. La Bayadere is one of the lesser known classical ballets, and certainly more difficult to see than Swan Lake or Coppelia as it is less frequently performed in its entirety. It is a ballet that I hope Liam will dance one day, so I was excited about being the person to introduce him to it.

After a tense moment where I realised I had given Liam and his mother the wrong start time (!), we met at the fountain at Lincoln Centre at 7:15. Liam looked extremely dapper in his black suit. Neither of us had been inside the Met before, so it was pretty grand seeing the red-carpeted staircase, the Chagalls, and the Rath crystal chandeliers. We made our way through the lavishness to the Dress Circle.

In the row in front of us, a woman was looking up anxiously for her friend to arrive. She watched as Liam and I approached. “You know who you look like?” she said to Liam, “You look just like David Alvarez who played Billy Elliot on Broadway!”. I laughed. So did Liam. “As a matter of fact,” I said, “this is Liam Redhead, and he is currently playing Billy Elliot on Broadway!” Well. The woman nearly dropped her drawers. Oh she was so excited she told the complete stranger sitting next to her. And she had us sign her Playbill... for the Ballet! Funny. Who knew we were such celebrities!

Now, classical ballet... especially these hundred-year-old gems... is a THING. Like baseball, it has a code... and there are a club of people who get the code because they’ve learned from someone who had the code before they got the code. So while at some points in Act 1 I was expecting the pitcher to throw a change-up at any moment (or for the theatre police to storm the stage for over-acting violations!)... it certainly was dramatic and exciting. Nonetheless, from the moment the veiled Veronika Part walked down the entrance stairs as Nikiya, and I saw the way she pointed her feet before each step (YES! just the way she pointed her feet was thrilling!) I could not get enough of her dancing. And Marcello Gomes as Solor was in every way her equal. Oh, these two! Completely edible.

It is in Act 3 that things really take off. And I mean take off. Solor smokes some opium, and has a dream where he dances with Nikiya in the Land of the Shades. Okay. That doesn’t sound like too much of an excuse to leave the plot behind and get on with some Olympic dance moments. But who cares. To watch the corps, the soloists, and the principles get to strut their stuff for 45 minutes is worth sitting through the other three acts. There were two mind-blowing moments for Liam and I: Gomes’ tour jetes were astounding (as was the generosity of his partnering!), and Part did a series of jetes in Act 4 that were so effortless they were shocking! We did both question the pointe shoes that ABT chooses to use: there were times when the rattle of toes from the corps was drowning out the string section! Truly. A little oddly percussive, let’s say. 

Every day I find myself expressing my gratitude for the relationships I have with the children in this play. Putting Liam in a taxi home at the end of our “ballet date” was a practical illustration of the responsibility I have for them, their welfare, their growth as young artists and young humans.

And oh too frequently they move on... the lure of new projects... the toll of time. My buddy Trevor left us on Sunday night. We had our last Shakespeare class in the afternoon: a review, during which he delighted me with how much he has learned in the last four months. And perhaps a friendly lecture from me about the transitions to come as he heads away from being a child actor on Broadway. Hugs. Tears for me. Smiles for him.

Before his last show he asked Cara Kjellman, one of our dance captains, if, for his final warm-up with the Ballet Girls, they could do Shine... so that he could play Mrs. Wilkinson! Oh yeah baby!!! By all accounts he was better than me. I have no doubt. He is a singular creature.

At twenty-past-ten Kylend, the Tall Boy, and I were standing in the wings at the end of the play as we always do, watching the final scene between Michael and Billy, when Kylend started sobbing at the departure of his pal. I wrapped my arms around him, and leaned my head on top of his head, as we faced the stage and our bodies shook together.

Goodbye Trevor.

Monday, May 17, 2010      

May 2 - Phil’s last show. Sad to see him go. He has been a fellow adventurer here in New York, and it was great to share with someone a sort of touristic verve. Leah Hocking, our Dead Mum, is also gone for a few months on a leave of absence... so that means drinks at the Glass House after the show!

May 4 - Greg is back! He is such a force in our company both onstage and off. It is a testament to the strength of this play, and the vision of the creative team, that two actors  as entirely different as Greg and Phil can play the Dad with such distinction and such enormous success. Glorious. Amber is back to play Lesley, as Stephanie moves into Dead Mum and the bad perm lady.
My friend Maggie, her eighty year old mother, and her brother have come from Maple Creek Saskatchewan (Google it! they also have a 5th Avenue!) to New York to see Billy Elliot! Maggie’s mom is so moved by the end of the play that she can’t even speak of her experience. She comes from a mining town in Nova Scotia. So great having them here. Dinner with them tomorrow night up at Josies on the UWS.

May 6 - The notes I got from Julian Webber and Peter Darling last week are beginning to settle, and I am THRILLED! I have yet another new lease on Mrs. Wilkinson. So great to feel this kind of blossoming after 7 months of eight show weeks! Blessings.

May 9 - Mothers’ Day. Ebony, one of the Ballet Girls, says to me, “Are you a mother?”. “No, I’m not”, I say. “Well, you’re the mother of all of us”.

May 10 - My friend Barbara is in town! Oh what fun! She used to live here, so we meet at Columbus Circle, she comes for tea, and we walk through her old ‘hood up to Blossom Cafe! Oh man! Nothing like sharing a GREAT vegetarian meal with a fellow veg-head. Yippee! And maybe just a couple of laughs...

May 11 - Babs sees the show. She gets Trevor Braun’s autograph on her Playbill. Through her tears, she is over the moon with excitement for my success here. It is so deeply gratifying, and humbling, to receive such adulation from people for which I have so much respect. We head over to Bar Centrale for a late night glass with Greg, who Barbara worked with some years ago up in Toronto. On the way we see Angela Lansbury getting out of her “car” and heading into Joe Allen. Then in the booth behind us in the bar are Patti Lupone and Jessica Lange. I’ve been told once the Tony nominations are out... the stars come out. I’m still getting used to the American phenomenon of celebrity. Greg and Babs and I have some great martinis and... maybe just a couple of laughs...

May 12 - My agent, Celia Chassels, is in town from Toronto. Things have been so busy at the agency that this is the first chance she has had to see me. We meet for dinner at ESCA after my matinee. For all the recommendations, I was a little disappointed in the meal. My $35 monkfish (I do eat fish on occasion) was tough. Hmmm. But Celia and I had great yacks, and loads to catch up on.

May 13 - Celia sees the show. Exciting. Mikey is on as Billy, and is completely stellar. Celia, her son Jeremy, and her friend Frank are thrilled by the show. Also in the house are my babysitter (and I mean MY babysitter, from when I was a baby in England) Soo and her husband Richard all the way from Essex to see me onstage. And to catch a Yankees game. And a Red Sox game. And a trip to Washington. I give all these folks a quick tour of our extremely efficient backstage world -- always an eye-opener to the unschooled.

May 14 - The set decides not to work. Right from the first breakfast scene, the downstage right trap is not rising and lowering properly. This proves to be a testament to the amazing team work that is live performance!!! We never stopped the show! though at one point Charlie, one of our assistant stage-managers was out in full view with his head set on, saving the unaware actors rushing onto the stage from falling into the open trap! Oh yeah! Then at the top of the Letter scene, I was to see if the trap came up, and if not get some chairs on the stage (they usually come up on the trap with the piano). No trap. The hole opens but nothing comes up. The hole closes. So Charlie and I struggle with the saloon doors at the back of the stage and get the chairs out there. Alex Ko’s eyes are open wider than ever - which is some feat - and they seem to be saying, “Do we just keep going? Are you sure? This has happened to you before, right?” Well... no.

We interrupt this diary entry for a brief acting lesson:

The later work of Stanislavsky and the major work of Grotowski was the investigation of a “physical score” for the actor. On Friday night I learned how vital this score is, and how precisely it conveys the entirety of the scene. During EVERY SECOND of the Letter scene my mind was racing: I had placed Alex’s chair too far upstage, since the piano was not in its place to give me proximity, and if the trap opened, Alex would be in danger. The chairs I had struggled to bring on were the “Dads’ chairs”, and heavier than the “Billy chairs” that are used for spinning in the ballet, and would Alex be able to spin the heavier chair? The footlights were still up from a previous number, and how would we adjust the choreography to accommodate this? Our tap shoes are usually on the piano lift along with Alex’s skipping rope... how were we going to get our tap shoes and go on with the number!? Would someone else stop the show... PLEASE... or would it have to be me? Aaaargh!!

And so on, and so on.

Meanwhile, my body and my mouth were doing the scene without a stop... without a hitch... with sniffles and coughs from the audience in the usual places. With Alex doing everything he was supposed to do, as if all was completely normal. Phenomenal. A fine piece of theatre research for the Laboratorium, I’d say.

And then, like the star he is, Thommie Retter arrived, carrying my tap shoes. I was like... Thanks Thommie... BUT WHAT ABOUT THE KID?! WHO CARES IF THE OLD LADY IS TAP DANCING! Faith kept me going. Somehow it had been communicated to Alex that his shoes were up on the bar, along with his rope... and you know what?... WE DID IT! We got through an amazingly complicated scene relying on the ingenuity of our backstage team and the... well, if not fearlessness, at least determination... of the three people on the stage. A miracle!

And on it went for the rest of the scenes that required the lift. We just kept making it up, with canny help from the crew and the stage managers, and it all worked out in the wash.

Kudos for Ko.

May 15 - A different kind of concentration is needed tonight. In Solidarity, in a quiet moment upstage, Liam is in tears. I have the chance to check in with him actor to actor: “Are you alright?” Nod. “Are you hurt?” No response. “Do you need to stop?” Head shake, with tears. “Are you sure?!” Nod, with tears. Time’s up. We keep going.

At my next quick change, I relay the red flag to Charlie (poor Charlie got it all this week!) and I know rescue efforts will be set in motion.

Actor’s Challenge Number Thirty-Seven: try acting like a “right cow” to a kid who is crying and in pain. I failed the challenge. We’re going to be onstage together for the next fifteen minutes without another break, and I’m going to be nice to the kid. Sorry. I try to relay the strength of the mighty through my eyes to his.

At the next break I’m told Mikey is standing by, ready to go on. When I come down for the Letter, I’m not sure which Billy will be sitting on the bed. It’s Liam. Trooper. He makes it through the act.

I check in with him at the interval. He had a back spasm early in the show that gave him a fright. Hence the tears. He’s actually feeling progressively better, he says. Whew.

He makes it through, though he looks a little wan when I see him on the street. And for Liam that’s telling.

May 16 - I find out Trevor, my Shakespeare buddy, will be leaving the show at the end of next week. Heartbreak. “I’m growing up,” he says with a smile that thinly veils his sadness and apprehension. 

May 17 - Day off. Rest. Recuperation. The next set of challenges starts tomorrow.

May 4th, 2010      

The good thing was: we didn’t know it actually was a bomb until the next morning. The dressing room windows were wide open, as the spring had quickly switched into summer the day before. It was a regular “Saturday Night on Broadway” and I was getting into my tights and microphones and doing my wig prep. The first noticeable indication (after all... sirens are completely commonplace) was a distinct lack of car horns and an increase in the sounds of human traffic.

I got up and looked out the window. It was now about ten minutes to eight. There was a steady stream of people heading away from Times Square, and all cars had obviously been re-routed. Will Chase took it in hand to find out what was going on. We got the five minute call. Then we heard our Stage Manager Bonnie Becker over the Tannoy:

    There’s a bomb scare in Times Square. Forty-fifth Street has been completely closed and we are trying to give our patrons time to get into the theatre from 8th Avenue. We’ll be holding at the five-minutes.

We waited. I started hemming some trousers. And then I thought: what am I doing hemming trousers! when I have an opportunity to be down on the street in the excitement! So down I went in full costume and make-up and stuck my head out the stage door. Several members of our cast and crew were out there; Julian Webber, our Associate Director had shown up; but... there was no excitement, other than trying to figure out whether we would actually have a house and do our show.

At about 8:20 we got our beginners call, and by 8:25 ... “Would all patrons carrying cell-phones kindly switch them off, or check again that you have already done so...”. I went back to my dressing room.

That’s when things stepped up a notch outside the window. Almost as soon as the show started, the police were announcing over bull-horns that people were to clear the street and get on the sidewalks. And only moments later, to clear the sidewalks and get into the buildings! Now it was strange. There was no one on the street outside at all, and whenever an unwitting tourist would stumble out of the Hotel Edison or any other public doorway, the almighty voice of authority would shock them back under cover. (The sirens on the police cars now are strangely reminiscent of Blade Runner...)

The show went on. As did all the shows in the surrounding neighbourhood. Some of the children were a bit frightened and needed some reassurance. Bobby and his team of guardians were in full flight, keeping heads level, while getting on the phone to all the parents. With complete justification, New Yorkers do not take this sort of thing lightly.

As the interval approached and the streets were still desolate, my dresser Margiann and my wig mistress Susan, and I formulated a plan: If we were locked in for the night we could take four hour shifts sleeping on the mattress I have in my dressing room for resting in between shows. I had a granola bar, and two loaves of Tangy Sourdough from Amy’s Bread. Or if we could get out of the building but they couldn’t get home to Jersey and Brooklyn, I had both a pull-out couch and an air-bed that I could offer at my apartment. The mind can quickly switch to emergency measures; to caring for those in your immediate purview.

Fortunately, none of that was necessary. Just before the interval, 46th was opened to our patrons for their break, and people who had been sequestered in other buildings could now make their way to 8th Avenue and disperse. We still had no idea what true level of threat existed. No news was yet available on-line. No official word had been issued. So we went on with our job. What was really amazing is that the house we had before the interval (about two-thirds I would say, maybe more) all came back for part two! Undaunted. Bravo for them.

Will Chase made a little speech at the end of the show, issuing the Police directive to our patrons to exit on 46th and make their way to 8th. And once out of costume and make-up we all did the same. Arrangements had been made for the children, and the guardians walked them out to their parents in groups. After pushing through a bit of a bottleneck of pedestrians, I hailed the oncoming Broadway bus, and made my way away from the fray.

It was only in the morning when I checked the CBC website that I found out about propane and fireworks and fertilizer and a smoking SUV. And that some of the company of the Lion King could actually see the vehicle from their dressing rooms! And that though there were delays, none of the Broadway shows -- even those on 45th Street -- were cancelled.

Curious. Thought-provoking. And full of wonder, this adventure in New York. Things like this just don’t happen on my little street in St. Catharines, Ontario.

April 27th, 2010   

Trevor Braun is one of the two boys who plays Michael, Billy’s best friend, in the show. He’s twelve and having already played Chip in Beauty and the Beast, and Flounder in The Little Mermaid, both on Broadway no less, he’s doing pretty well for himself! (Ya think?!) Trevor and Jacob Schwenke (the Schwenkmeister!) alternate the role of Michael, which means that every second show they are either tutoring somewhere in the bowels of the Imperial Theatre, or hanging around in the dressing room playing video games, watching movies, or... making stuff.

Trevor likes Barbara Streisand, Liza Minelli... and Shakespeare. Early in the new year he was driving everyone nuts with his obsession for Romeo and Juliet. I was feeling fairly needy myself in terms of intellectual stimulation, and suggested to Trevor that if he liked, I would be willing to give him Shakespeare lessons during the intervals of the days he was hanging around in the dressing room. He was extremely keen on this idea.

Our little lyceum is now ongoing. We have about 1/2 an hour to spend each session, and usually have three sessions a week. When Trevor first came he had the No Fear Shakespeare version of R&J as his only text book. Now he comes up the stairs to my dressing room laden with the cargo of the ardent student of classical literature: he bought himself a First Folio online with his Hanukah gelt, has purchased the Schmidt Lexicons, Playing Shakespeare by John Barton (he’s been watching the video series this past week as well) and of course his personally decorated notebook, embossed with a picture of the Bard himself beside a picture of Trevor dressed up as the Bard.

Trevor has assimilated my course on Shakespearean text analysis faster than any theatre student or professional I have ever taught. He is already highly skilled in the intricacies of scansion (he understands the difference between an iamb, a trochee, a spondee, and an anapest... just saying!), he applies thesis and antithesis, irony, alliteration, assonance, and onomatopoeia. He can break a soliloquy into a classical five act structure, and... okay, this is my favourite... he says, “So, Kate... for homework... should I find the ethos, pathos, and logos in this speech?”. OH YEAH!!

For we Shakespeare geeks... this is better than Maple Syrup!

The truth is... the kid moves me nearly to tears when he does Arthur’s speech to Hubert from King John, and equally he had me in stitches when he made his first pass of the Boy’s speech from Henry V the other night. It’s astonishing, and so gratifying for me as a teacher. And a friend. And did I mention... HE’S TWELVE!

So Thursday this week was Shakespeare’s Birthday. Trevor came up to my room piled high with his books, and with Bobby Wilson, the guardian, in tow. There were two boxes on the top of his precarious stack each wrapped in paper that Trevor had inscribed with sections of text about roses from R&J, from Loves Labours Lost, and from As You Like It, and inside were two cupcakes with roses on the top made out of icing. Bobby provided candles and a lighter, and Trevor and I sang “... Happy Birthday Dear Shakespeare...” before beginning our lesson. I then read the personal note of thanks that Trevor had written me in pencil on a lined piece of foolscap. Tears. It now holds a place of honour on my dressing room cork-board.

Okay. Just one more little anecdote:

We were looking at the opening speech from Richard III a few weeks ago, trying to figure out what it meant, and we got to the section where Richard says, “sent before my time, Into this breathing World, scarse halfe made up...”, and Trevor in his best Ethel Merman impersonation (GOD LOVE HIM!) says, “It’s just like in Gypsy... at the end... when Mama Rose says, ‘I was born too early, and started too late...!’”.

Let the scholars make what they will of it... it’s kinda like that!

April 6th, 2010

Oh, these sunny, warm, strange summer days in April! What a beautiful Easter weekend it was. I saw three ladies in their Easter hats as I walked to work on Sunday. And other New York ladies are also strutting their finery. In Central Park the still nearly naked elm, maple, and oak trees are humbled by the elegant and opulent blooms of the cherry trees, the magnolias, and azaleas; like graceful old dancers compared to the electric green of the feisty gingkos and willows. Oh my! On The Lake the row boats are out exposing lovers and children to the early rays of spring. A delightful place to sit for half an hour on the day off, to take in some of the natural beauty of New York, glancing up every now and again at the magnificent facade of the San Remo and wondering how the other half lives looking down on all of this.

We had two young shoots join us on stage this week. The inimitable Ava DeMary, an eight year old pixie with a face like a light, playing Julie Hope. Rachel Rescheff has moved down Broadway to 42nd Street to play Juliette in Mary Poppins. (At ten years old she already has a far bigger Broadway career than I will ever have!) Working with Ava is like having a puppy onstage: you cannot take your eyes off her... skinny little legs and all. Big brown eyes and a gap-toothed smile that will drop you right out of character, and leave you turning upstage to recover!

And the eager and tenacious Jacob Clemente joined us this past Saturday night as our newest Billy. That brings us up to five! (Well, down to four, as the lovable Dayton is off right now with a bit of an injury...) This is the second part Jacob has played in BE. He debuted as the Tall Boy back in October of last year, continuing his training for Billy all the while, and now has advanced to the forefront.

I can relate to Jacob. If he’s a little nervous or uncertain instead of backing off and approaching something gingerly, he winds himself tighter and hits harder. I am just like that. When in doubt, SING OUT! So as he finished his chaine turns in Solidarity, he looked up at me with eyes wide open, and pupils darting back and forth like he was watching a train pass by outside the window. Gorgeous. I’m looking forward to playing with him as he settles into his new, and somewhat more significant role. He’s a delightful boy.

I’m off on holiday next week. Looking forward to a few much needed days with my feet in the sand and water. And then a quick trip home to the North. I’ll report all when I’m back. I’m leaving Mrs. Wilks in the extremely talented hands of Leah Hocking and Liz Pearce. I hope they have a RIOT!

Soon then...

March 16th, 2010

Wednesday nights are a busman’s holiday for the cast of Billy Elliot. On our current schedule we work five show weekends, and get the night off on Wednesday, so this is the evening to get out into the world and see some THEATRE!

A couple of weeks ago my friend Anne was down from Boston, and we went and saw her friend Brian D’Arcy James in Time Stands Still at the Manhattan Theatre Club. (Anne and Brian had done summer-stock together at the Fischer Opera Haus in Frankenmuth, Michigan in the 80s!). Also in the cast were Laura Linney, Eric Bogosian, and Alicia Silverstone. The acting was superb across the board. The play was compelling, and at times excellent (the story of a pair of journalists who come back to Brooklyn from Afghanistan after a traumatic experience). I was completely rapt, despite the apparent consumption ward by which we were surrounded. We met with Brian after the show. Since his days in Michigan he has gone on to be a bona fide Broadway star, but like most of us, he is just an ordinary guy: a working actor, a husband, a dad, and a charming and friendly fella. Nice.

Last week my friend Allison and I hiked out to Brooklyn to see the second installment of The Bridge Project, Sam Mendes’ production of The Tempest by that crazy old rapper, Willy the Shake. As with it’s predecessor As You Like It, the star of the show was the set design by Tom Piper, and the lights by Paul Pyant. Holy. They truly created a magical space for the playing of this great play. As for the production... well, the attempt was noble. Stephen Dillane was beautifully brooding and intellectual as Prospero, but the supporting cast was uneven but for the bright lights of Edward Bennett as Ferdinand and Anthony O’Donnell as Trinculo.

What I loved about Mendes’ take on the play was the conceit of Ariel and Caliban being aspects of Prospero: his personal spirits, if you like. This was really enlightening and exciting to consider. So at the end of the play, when Prospero heads back to his life as the Duke of Milan, not only does he arrive at the outward forgiveness of his usurping brother and the King for all their ill-treatment, he also sets free these magical and tormented aspects of himself. Pretty cool, eh? Is that something obvious in the play that I have simply never seen before? Don’t know. But I am extremely grateful to Mr. Mendes for making me think! Yippee. Love the theatre. More exciting Wednesday nights to come!

On another high note, the handsome and talented Alex Ko is back in the house on 45th Street! Yeah!! Alex rejoined us as Billy on Sunday: “better, stronger, faster” than he was before thanks to our crack team of physio-therapists and trainers, and his own dogged determination. It’s so great to have Alex back, and I look forward to the coming shows as we rebuild the old rinkle-tinkle that we had in rehearsals. A triumphant return for my special young friend!

March 9th, 2010

Trent Kowalik came in on Sunday morning (I call it morning though it was 12:30... “morning” is the first call of the day, no matter the hour) for warm-up. He was on stand-by for Mikey. He said it didn’t feel real... that it didn’t seem like this could be his last day of Billy Elliot. He sang his Christina Aguilera riff for me. He’s been working on this riff for a few months now, and though at first it sounded a little like a moose call (always the reminders of the Great White North), this time I actually started to hear the music he was making! A graduation of sorts.

In the last three months Trent has become a young man. When we did the Macy’s Parade at the end of November he was still a boy: a bit skinny and gawky. Now his deep, distant, soft-brown eyes look right into mine on stage. His whole body is becoming thicker and stronger, and with that comes the accompanying pain of growing, of pushing this growing body through a grueling daily discipline of classes and warm-ups and rehearsals and shows. And it wouldn’t be warm-up without Trent complaining about the shape of his feet, or his lack of extension: “No. Really. Look...!”

At 6:30 came the warm-up for Trent’s last show. I came upstairs for the ballet barre and David Alvarez was there doing his plies and tendus. Double take. He’d come to see his friend’s final hours upon the stage. At least this stage. He threw his arms around me. (How great it is to have a fifteen year old boy throw their arms around you when they haven’t seen you in a while!!) David has been gone from the show for just over a month, but it is so apparent in his face and his body that he is now inhabiting a different world. He has graduated.

Trent was happy. Nervous, a bit terrified... but happy.

It felt like 1400 people had come to say goodbye to him. Stephen Daldrey took the stage first: Trent auditioned for Billy in 2005... since he is now 15, he has been involved with Billy Elliot for fully one third of his life! That gives you some perspective on what this graduation means. Trent holds two other distinctions: he has done the show on both the West End and on Broadway, and he is the longest running Billy in the history of the production. Okay three... lest we forget... he is the last of the three Tony Award winning Billys to leave the show.

Stephen was already crying at the end of the curtain speech.

These are sentimental occasions, there is no doubt. The audience was glued on Trent, and applauding his every move. They stopped the show four times with ovations. But I can honestly say I witnessed a momentous occasion in the theatre: at the end of the first act, within the context of the Riot, is Billy’s Angry Dance. This was Trent’s raison d’etre. I have never seen, nor can I imagine seeing, such a young person commit so deeply to expression through movement. Every tap of his toe or heal, every lateral stretch, every run, every leap was powered directly from the core of his being. IT WAS AWESOME!!! Stunning. I watched it on the monitor backstage, so I can only imagine what it was like sitting in the house! I do know that Kate Dunn, our associate choreographer, came backstage bawling. And Trent came back to towel down, change his costumes, and get on with the second act.

Each dance brought us closer to the inevitable reality of the goodbye scenes: I looked like Alice Cooper by the end of Last Class, the ache of keeping a brave face dissolving into open weeping; Trent’s bouquet delivered in the curtain call by his chum and kindred spirit, Tessa Netting; Phil Whitchurch as Dad, giving Trent back to his family and then getting trapped downstage of the curtain as it came flying in!! Happy Trails was sung into the stunned face of this young man. He had the courage and the composure (just) to give us a little farewell speech. And after Trent had said his goodbyes to all the folks on stage (which took 20 minutes) he went out to greet the THRONG of fans that were waiting at the Stage Door to catch their final glimpse of this Tony Award-winning Broadway Star.

I met him on the stairs on my way out. Another hug. I’ll see him next week apparently. He’s going to keep tutoring here with the boys till the end of the school year. That makes this ol’ teacher very happy.

March 2nd, 2010   

Sometimes things go wrong.

Very often it’s little things... like Saturday when the cookie that I’m supposed to eat in Solidarity went flying out of the box and across the stage like a tennis ball being lobbed. A few giggles from the Girls, a few improvised moments around miming cookie business, and on we went.

Or on Sunday night when Dayton went behind the piano during Born to Boogie to find MY tap shoes in place of his for the onstage quick change. By the time I realised what was wrong he was already getting into his “trainers” and doing the tap sequence in them. Fast thinking!

Sometimes bigger things go wrong. Like when the bedroom revolve didn’t come up for the final scene. Dayton again, poor thing. But he just went and sat over on the radiator stage left instead of sitting on his bed, and left his family to pace the floor. The scene has no dialogue, so nothing major had to be created, and the audience would not have known anything was wrong.

Not so on Wednesday afternoon I’m afraid. The Ballet Girls and I are onstage for the top of Solidarity, and the Policemen are all standing in their line downstage with Billy and Debbie. The cue comes, I open my mouth to begin the entire proceedings... and there is no orchestra. Well... a few bleats and fumbles. The Policemen make a bolt for the blue, as do Billy and Debbie... leaving me and the Girls to figure out what to do next.

I get to my spot on the proscenium and look toward the conductor for help: “Are we going to stop?”, I’m thinking. He’s on the phone. Not his cell phone. But the big WHITE phone that connects him with... well, I’m not sure who it connects him with but since it’s not a big RED phone it can’t be the President. In any case... no help there. So I keep going, sort of. Some of the band is playing bits and pieces now but the beginning of Solidarity all sounds the same, so it’s pretty tough to figure out where we are. The Girls keep following me, and like me are trying to figure out where we are in the music, throwing themselves into one bit of choreography only to realise that we have moved past that in the dialogue and that they need to be on the other side of the stage. At one point Billy (Liam... God bless) says “Miss, what am I supposed to do?” (Indeed!) and though he’s supposed to be standing on a chair when I say “Get down for starters,” in this case he wasn’t yet up, so instead of getting down, he jumped up. Giggle.

I have no idea how long this actually went on. Of course it felt like about three years considering the amount of mental activity that was firing in my small brain trying to rectify the situation and to save face in front of the 1400 people who are wondering what on earth is happening, and trying to figure out why they’re so confused. And then, like an oasis in the desert, like dawn over the Grand Canyon, like the lark at break of day... we hear the musical phrase that cues the next big section of the number. Before I could even turn around those brilliant Ballet Girls were all on the floor in their places, and the entire company instantly proceeded perfectly... as if nothing had ever happened. In our wake, I have no doubt there were a few audience members who adjusted their hearing aides or checked their programs for plot notes, but the incident was over... history... toast... and on we went.

Turns out there was a ghost in the sound machine, causing the recorded rhythm track to malfunction. Ah, the wonders of technology. And the blessings and curses of doing your job in front of spectators! Live from New York it’s ....

February 16th, 2010        Home Sick

On my couch. Niagara Falls would be proud of the amount of fluid o’erflowing the escarpment of my nose. Ah yes, it’s true: even actors on Broadway are human enough to suffer the indignities of the common cold, and to be laid waste in an aching swamp of snotty tissues. I’m floating in ginger tea (made from organic ginger root and lemons from Whole Foods) and hot baths infused with eucalyptus oil (the voodoo, as my friend David calls it). And while I sip, I’m watching some highlights of the Vancouver Olympics on my computer. (I don’t have a television, I don’t watch enough, but when I have a cold I would actually tune in during the day and catch a little Olympic FEVER!).

As I was coming down the stairs in the second act last week, Tim (last name, aaargh!) the Tap Teacher said to me, “You must be homesick!”. You know... I hadn’t thought about it in those terms until just that moment. But since he mentioned it... Yes, I think I am homesick. Especially seeing the amazing footage of British Columbia in the opening ceremonies, and a sea of the Maple Leaf waving in the hands of the national and international alike. To hear “Oh Canada” sung by the unbelievably talented 16 year old Nikki Yanovsky (who knew it could be such a hip tune!), the gob-smacking talent of l’il old Red Deer Alberta native, kd lang (HOLY CRAP she is such a truly inspiring performer!), the untempered pride of the people of the First Nations (“if you wanna be a dancer, dance!”), and the tear-jerking, heart-stirring performance of slam poet Shane Koyczan, defining Canada (the zed thing... only in Canada would that cause the greatest swell of patriotic cheering from the crowd [see NOTE]). And of course the parade of the athletes. What defines a culture? Storytellers, and heroes. Well. If I wasn’t homesick walking down the stairs in the second act last week, I am certainly homesick now. Curious how the customs and environs in which you are raised have such an emotional pull, create such a yearning in the body for that which one knows, for the comfort, the community of familiarity.

In the international cast of Billy Elliot, I am certainly not the only one who is far from the home I love. Phil is missing his family in England (who are arriving today or tomorrow I think for a New York visit); Dayton and Mikey have siblings and parents who are literally across the world from them in Australia (one of our swings, Matt Serafini is also from Oz, though he’s a young man on an adventure!); Liam’s family, other than Mom, are at home in North Bay. And it’s not just international performers: Kylend, who plays our Tall Boy, has his Mom and little brother here, but at home in North Michigan his Dad is trying desperately to lift their dog out of a depression that has descended since its playmates have been gone; and Ballet Girl Cara from Indiana no longer has the success of the Colts to keep her sporting the team colours. All these, are the ties that bind, and working so far away from home means those ties have to become pretty elastic.

So I am grateful for the generosity and kindness of my new American friends and colleagues, for the depth of talent that provides extraordinary understudies like Leah Hocking and Liz Pearce, and for the comforts of home, even if that home is temporary. At least I have a comfy couch on which to be home sick.

NOTE - The Zed Thing
Living so close to our neighbour of the zee, the ZED is something that we Canadians use as a defining characteristic. How crazy is that, when you think about it?! In cabaret performances on occasion I sing the song “Teach Me Tonight”. The lyric, by Sammy Cahn, goes like this:

    Starting with the A-B-C of it, right down to the X-Y-Zee of it,
    Help me solve the mystery of it... teach me tonight.

In the past, I have actually had the gall to sing (with apologies to Mr. Cahn):

    Starting with the A-B-C of it, right down to the X-Y-Zed of it,
    Help me solve the MR. ED of it... teach me tonight.

Yup. This is Canadian humour. But I don’t think you can count my wicked wit up there with the likes of Howie Mandel, Mike Myers, Catherine O’Hara, or Jim Carrey. Maybe one day. I’ll likely need better material than this!

February 8th, 2010    

FINALLY... after weeks of put-in rehearsals we had a week of just 8 shows! Whew! Makes one feel almost human. With the new winter schedule in effect (five show weekends, and Wednesday nights off) I actually had the energy to venture out into the world of the five boroughs on a field trip. Destination: Brooklyn.

It was not exactly a tour. I left the theatre after the Wednesday matinee with my heroic dresser, Margiann Flanagan. (We both remarked on the slowly waxing daylight, and what a joy it is to leave the stage door at 5:15pm and see the blue of the sky!) Margiann is a Brooklyn-ite... or a Brooklyn-ese... or a Brooklyn-er... and on the train across the Manhattan Bridge, she pointed out the Brooklyn Bridge, the Seaport Historic District, the Statue of Liberty in the distance, and the bustling residential development of DUMBO (Down-Under- the-Manhattan-Bridge-Overpass). We got out at Atlantic Avenue, a huge junction for many of the trains coming into Brooklyn from Manhattan. We walked up to the Opera House of the Brooklyn Academy of Music from the side, gazing up at the ornate and painstakingly restored Beaux Arts cornices. Stepping around to the front of the building is almost breathtaking: a majestic and imposing piece of architecture, seemingly plopped in the middle of an indeterminate urban landscape (particularly as the dark had now descended). A true anachronism.

We went for a meal directly opposite this stalwart building, at an Austrian restaurant called Thomas Beisl. I have not eaten meat in 15 years, and coming from a German background I was not terribly hopeful about the chances of a Viennese menu containing appropriate fare. I was completely delighted, not only by the warmth and simplicity of the hospitality and decor, but also by the four Teutonic vegetarian options on the menu! I opted for the Mushroom Strudel. Margiann had the Salmon. Yum.

Due to a previous commitment, Margiann would not be my date for the theatre. I was joined in the lobby of the Harvey Theatre by my young friend and steadfast theatre accomplice, Allison Plamondon. The Harvey Theatre is amazing! Originally built in 1904, it is one of the many North American circuit houses that fell into disuse in the mid-20th century. It was “restored” in the mid-80s for Peter Brook’s Mahabarata, and has been a venue for BAM since then. The restoration left the interior of the auditorium in a semi-ruined state, with bare plaster and apparently crumbling columns... sort of world weary, yet determined... a perfect home for the theatrical experience I crave.

Allison and I were there to see The Bridge Project: a three year classical theatre co-venture between the Old Vic in London and BAM in Brooklyn, featuring a cast from both countries in plays that will tour spring and summer theatre festivals around the world. Pretty exciting. As You Like It was this evening’s entertainment.

Now, I am a self-professed Shakespeare geek. So any chance to sit in a theatre and listen to three hours of the Bard is not lost on me. I have, after all, sat through hours and hours of student rehearsals of the second year Shakespeare project at the National Theatre School in Montreal, where I teach, with patience, a keen ear, and an immense love for the work. That said, this production directed by the theatrical genius Sam Mendes, was uneven. STUNNING to look at, particularly the set by Tom Piper, and the lighting by Paul Pyant... whew! A magnificent use of the playing space, which is a combined proscenium and thrust stage. And some truly poignant moments (at the death of Adam you could have heard a pin drop! and the transition from the court to the forest was AWESOME!). The music of Mark Bennett also deserves a nod.

My two favourite performances were those of Oliver (played by Edward Bennett, who had such a skillful command, and yet supple ease with the text it was truly inspiring) and Silvius (Aaron Krohn, who was simple, honest, and hilarious). But if I’m choosing the performances of Oliver and Silvius as my favourites in this play... well, that sort of speaks for itself. All told, a night well spent: a field trip with two friends, a good meal, and a chance to hear these wonderful words, and to delight in one of my preferred pastimes: an evening of Shakespeare on stage. I now look forward to seeing the sister production of The Tempest coming up in a few weeks, and a second trip across the Bridge to see the Bridge.

I’ll let you know...

February 2nd, 2010        Deja Vu

What would be the current analogy for “broken record”? “Corrupted file” just doesn’t seem to do it. “Slipped disc”? “Over-byte”? In any case... I’m going to blow the horn of the young people in this show yet again.

This week we had another Broadway debut: that of Mike Dameski. Holy crap! I think there’s a Billy Tree in Australia and they are just plucking these boys off it. Mike comes to us from Sydney where he played Billy in the Aussie production, along side superstar Dayton Tavares. Oh, Mikey. What a premiere. A sweet, gentle boy (at least so far... they’re all a bit quiet at the start... though Liam and Dayton are now warming-up to Lady Gaga, or rapping as they limber their adductors across the long aisle of the balcony... and Trent is constantly trying to capture a vocal riff from Christina Aguilara during ballet barre, much to the bemusement of the adults present... he is tenacious...) The thing that gets me about these boys: not only do they have uncanny skills as dancers, singers and actors, they have the aplomb to create their own unique performance of this role. Now, I realise they are not out there alone: behind them are years of training, dedication on the part of families and teachers, and finally an exacting rehearsal process that they have each been through. But at the end of the day (literally, as their day starts at 9am with tutoring and goes until they are finished signing autographs at 11:15pm), it is these little men who are strutting their stuff across the Broadway stage to the adulation and excitement of so many. And Mikey had me and 1400 others weeping with delight. I say again: holy crap!

(At thirteen I was... let’s see... playing Humpty-Dumpty in a skit in our church basement. Compare if you dare!)

Phil Whitchurch also made a Broadway debut this week. He is playing Dad while Greg Jbara is on a leave of absence. Phil played the role in the West End company of Billy. Originally from Liverpool, Phil lives with his family in London, so he’s another stranger in the strange land of New York City. A totally fantastic guy, a truly generous actor, and a wonderful Dad. Ch-ch-ch-changes.

Last Sunday was the 500th show of Billy Elliot on Broadway, so the producers took us out for a much deserved drink. We’ve been rehearsing so much lately what with all the new Billys and other cast changes, so we’re all pretty pooped. Daldrey’s toast was to the “hardest working company on Broadway”, and I’m quite sure that’s accurate. And then he pushed Liam’s face into the cake! And then the boys pushed his face into the cake!!

Most of us get a bit of a break from rehearsal this week (thanks god!), except of course those Billys. Indefatigable.

...indefatigable... indefatigable... indefatigable... indefatigable... indefatigable...

January 18th, 2010   

There are two basic things I love about acting.

One is: the constancy of change.

This is most notable in the development of a role. I feel like I have come so far in the development of Mrs. Wilkinson, and that though there is a consistency in the “product” that the audience views every night, there is a perpetual shifting from within. A ceaseless searching. How long will this last, I wonder? Or is it possible that it will be ongoing, even cyclical, much as is our own growth as human beings? Is theatre ever a finished product?

This week I had a rehearsal with Stephen Daldrey and Phil (oh no, here we go again, I don’t even know Phil’s last name yet!!) who is replacing Greg Jbara while he is on a leave of absence. Now Stephen has been working on this play for how long? Six years or so? And the film before that. And yet, he came into rehearsal on Thursday, fresh as a daisy, and as he said, “completely re-directed the scene” that Dad and Mrs. Wilks have in the second act. Now Phil is a very different actor than Greg, and that alone makes up a good deal of the change. (Phil played the role on the West End for a time.) But we looked at intentions and minute internal shifts that left me with a complete sense of newness, not only for that scene, but for Mrs. Wilks as a character! That is a saving grace. Insightful notes. Fresh approaches. And the unique ability of this creative team to allow (and more importantly, to DESIRE) the continuing re-VISION of this piece of theatre.

The second thing is: the unknowable.

I am a creature of ritual. I come to the theatre an hour and half before curtain for every show. I do a physical warm-up with the Billys, then a vocal warm-up, then a tap warm-up. I go upstairs to my dressing room to put the kettle on, then have a chat with Carole Shelley, or with “the boys” (Greg Jbara, Will Chase, and Joel Hatch). At the half hour I make chamomile tea, then begin the process of make-up, microphones, and costumes (with my guardian angel and dresser, Margiann Flanagan). When Big Davey says “Oi, breakfast!” I make my way down to the stage, where the ballet girls are gathering, and we await our cue light. I throw open the doors after the girls, and... I have no idea what will happen next! It is all so determined, and yet so undetermined. And indeterminable. I can not be what I want to be out on that stage, I must simply accept what I am on that day, and at that moment. (Very Eckhart Tolle!) It’s true. It’s LIVE! Tempos change, props fall, muscles hurt, children laugh, even time and space can seem outrageously elastic. But it is not the physical differences from show to show that make up this truly unknowable experience. It is an internal quality, an energy that is completely ineffable. Sometimes frustrating, sometimes miraculous. But always impossible to grasp. I love this thing I can never have.

Man. I love my job.

January 4th, 2010          

Our last show of 2009 was a cracker, I have to say. There was a celebratory mood in the air. My brother Paul and his family were in the front row of the mezzanine, joined by my babysitter Gloria (and I mean MY babysitter) who came from England with her husband, and my friend Veronica and her daughter. So I was pumped. And maybe a little afraid: Veronica Tennant was Prima Ballerina for the National Ballet of Canada for 25 years, and is a Companion of the Order of Canada, and... well... I was a little timid to do my bourrees in front of her! Stephen Daldrey was also in the house, and that always elevates the show for us: we like to do a good job for the Big Daddy. And we had a great show: a wonderful way to kick 2009 in the butt and send it packing.

The day off was New Years Eve. The city was all a-bubble. This city is crazy during the holidays. Just saying. There are SOOOO many people out there - tourists and New Yorkers alike- spending their free days out and about, getting their shopping time in, seeing the lights and feeling the piqued atmosphere. All very exciting. I spent the day doing all those things with my family, coming back through the subway at Times Square at around 6:30pm and the joint was already jumping. I was quite glad to just pass through. (Every New Yorker that you talk to says to avoid Times Square at all costs on this day, and I don’t need to be told twice that once you are inside the barrier there is NOWHERE TO PEE!) We went out to dinner at Mexicano Rosa instead, and had a fabulous time, with loads of laughter, a quartet of Mexican musicians, hats, noisemakers, and champagne. So great to have family here to celebrate my New Year in New York! Hah!

We have had so many cast changes in the last month: the goings of Donna-Lynn, Rick, Greg and Daniel, mean the comings of Amber, Donny, Matt, and Rick. (Rick Hilsabeck went and came in the same week!) But once again, the indelible marks are left by the children. This week we lost Maria, who played Debbie, to go and do the show in Chicago. From the time we did the “Last Class” scene, the girls were inconsolable. John Fahey, one of the guardians, was doing tissue runs for them. Dear sweet Maria. What a beautiful child. And when the curtain hit the ground, poor lamb, her face distorted in sobs... along with all the girls, and her dear friend Brianna embraced her instantly. Happy Trails was sung. Baaah!

Then... Sunday January 3rd was the final performance for Tony Award Winner David Alvarez in the role of Billy. Oh boy. On our post board, in the stairwell that doubles as our green room, there is a picture of Kiril Kulish and David in very early days, standing at the barre in their black tights and white tees. They are both children: little boys! But no more. They have both grown into magnificent young men in just a year (Kiril left the show the week before I came in).

I’ll never forget the first time I saw David A. I was here in New York a year ago last November rehearsing White Christmas, and I came to see Billy Elliot the night after it opened... November 13th I think it was. David was on. I remember him coming down the stairs into the kitchen for the first time, in his boxer shorts, and looking at those legs and thinking... “this is no ordinary little boy! I can’t wait to see him dance!”. And oh, I was not disappointed. (I was star-struck. I happened to be rehearsing at American Ballet Theatre, saw David in the stairwell one day after class, and could barely introduce myself!) What a dancer. But as his cast mates will be quick to add, what an actor. And what I will be quick to add, what a charming, funny, and gracious young man. No child any longer, he looks directly into my eyes onstage and off, and entertains all of us both onstage and off. His smile is instinctive and delightful, and the light in his eyes is... well... sometimes you need shades.

So many tears. And another tradition. When the Billys leave the show the boys are allowed to change the final two lines of the play. Normally they say: “See ya Billy.” “Yeah. See ya Michael.” But on this occasion they are allowed to use there own names. (I’m crying just writing about this! Suck!) Now, Keean Johnson and David are like a crafty tag team: inseparable teenage boys always snickering about some nasty little secret. They have developed a remarkable kinship in their time together. Well, dear Keean couldn’t even speak. He just sat on his bicycle watching David walk out through the house. And then weakly, from halfway up the aisle came, “See you Keean.”

Flood.

At the end of the curtain call Greg Jbara stepped forward, and invited David’s father, David Sr., onto the stage... to give the boy back to his family. From one Dad to another.

Ah, David. See you David.

December 28th, 2009   

Christmas in New York. Hmmm. Never thought I’d be experiencing that, let alone going into the theatre and working on Christmas Day: ha, ha! And the theatre is certainly not the only enterprise to soldier on in this city, on this holiday. I stepped onto the crosstown bus on the way to work, only to witness the continued workings of the city and its people: of course the transit operators are working, there were restaurants and corner stores open, and as I approached 5th Avenue the city was completely a-bustle. In fact... there was a traffic jam at 5th and 57th at six o‘clock on Christmas Day! I walked south towards Rockefeller Plaza on my quest to see the famous tree, and found the streets packed with people: all the street sellers out with their handbags, and scarves, and weird tacky light sculptures, and the smell of roasted chestnuts, souvlaki, and warm pretzels filled the air. Children crying and cameras flashing. Not a lot of New Yorkers here, I expect, but certainly the city was not sleeping. Quite quickly I found myself embroiled in the mob that was heading like lemmings to the cliff, and I filed along, zigging and zagging among the throng. And there it was: the GREAT BIG Christmas tree with thousands of lights standing up above the skating rink: a picture that has become so very familiar even to foreigners. I naively had a notion that I would be able to peacefully sit and gaze at the tree and reflect on my Christmas solitude... HAH! I took it in, slightly disappointed (last year I had a magnificent walk along the Mississippi River on Christmas Day in the frigid wilds of Minnesota) and was propelled from the Plaza, much like toothpaste from the tube, towards the bright lights of Times Square and the Imperial Theatre.

So much to be grateful for this Christmas: so many gifts: the love and support of family and friends (not to mention presents sent from a great distance at a great expense); an amazing job filled with such a friendly, joyful group of people; my health, my hope, my happiness. All this to celebrate in a time when the earth is in darkness, and we must create our own understanding of light. How fortunate I am. I’m a bit of a Hallmark card, I’m afraid. But I would still rather be sentimental than cynical, so I’m even grateful for that!

The young Liam Redhead opened on December 23rd. Brilliant. Brilliant. What a Christmas present that was. He’s a charmer, oh boy, and I am so pleased that though his first show was postponed due to scheduling difficulties, he opened with such a triumph. Yee haw! I think he’s pretty thrilled, too.

And on we go now. A little respite from rehearsals this week, which is a welcome present. And soon we see Billy Elliot into 2010! How time flies. It feels like I just started rehearsing a couple of weeks ago! Time, it seems, is completely elastic.

December 13th, 2009

I’m home here. I have a great little pad; my cat is happy; I walk to work everyday down 9th Avenue and begin to know the shops I like poking into and the restaurants that are popular for brunch on the weekends. My dear friend David came recently, and I was able to show him around a city with which I begin to have some familiarity... even, dare I say it, a haunt or two.

But there is nothing that makes you feel more impossibly far afield than when a friend and colleague dies... back in your real home. On Wednesday last week the Canadian theatre community dimmed its lights for Goldie Semple. She was nothing less than a star on our stages: a statuesque beauty with a gift for romantic comedy, an unrivaled elegance, a brilliant wit, and an exacting intellect. And in our Niagara community she was a leader among women, a friend who never separated herself from the many who admired and respected her, a fine and generous teacher, and a luminary to those fans and patrons who revered her with awe.

Dear Goldie.

It’s hard not to be around. Not to sit with my friends and weep. For no one here knows what a profound impact she had on the lives of people she worked with. To be alone in that. As I was when Neil Munro died in August. And when Douglas Campbell died in October. How empty I feel not being with my community as we mourn the loss of these masters of our noble craft.

And yet, I continue to live fully in this new world. And it brings its own joy and sadness. On Friday we said goodbye to Tommy Bachelor as he heads home to Florida before going to Chicago to open as Billy Elliot there. Tommy is such a talented, disciplined, and scrappy young performer. It has been such a thrill to share the stage with him (he is literally as light as air out there!), and I will miss him terribly. And since Goldie had put me in the mood to weep... I just kept the flood gates open. Good for my cold, I kept saying. So in our final scene (Tommy and me), when Billy says, “Well... bye-bye, Miss”, and the tears welled up in his young blue eyes, it was all we could do to hold it together... as Mrs. Wilkinson and Billy, yes, but mostly as Kate and Tommy. So we didn’t really. We both knew what a perfect moment of art/life that was, and I know I will cherish it. I hope he does too.

And Tommy... Good luck.

And. Bye-bye Goldie. Bye-bye Miss.

Billy Elliot Broadway turned one year old this week. Wild. I’ve never been in a show that has run for a year! Of course I've just finished my 6th week onstage, so I still don't know what it's like playing for such an extended period of time. In the world of not-for-profit theatre we would have had rehearsals and finished the run within that six week framework! But Broadway is a whole different kettle of fish.

Or... pan of cake! And champagne! And noisemakers and birthday hats! Oh... and we must not forget Shirley Temples for the kids. My friend Pam had just arrived from Toronto, so I told her to come and meet me for the party, which we had in the theatre bar after the show on Friday night.

The first person we met upon entering the room was Mitchell, one of the "small boys" in the show. Mitchell is 8, I think. Mitchell had a Shirley Temple and was quick to tell us that his drink was way better than the "adult" drinks. I asked him to lead us to the bar, which he was extremely happy to do, circumnavigating the party-goers by way of empty rows of theatre seats. Mitchell knows these routes extremely well, as he and his guardian John, spend many an hour between shows on Wednesdays and Saturdays looking for coins that spill from patrons' pockets. (If you come to a Wednesday or Saturday matinee, please leave a little coinage for Mitchell!) Mitchell has a constant companion: an extremely squishy stuffed rabbit which he carries most everywhere but on the stage. "What's your rabbit's name?", asked Pam. And with a look of confusion at what should be glaringly obvious, Mitchell replied, "Bunny". Bunny was wearing Mitchell's birthday hat.

Stephen Daldrey made a Happy Birthday Billy toast, and photos were taken of all the Billys (those currently on the stage: Trent, David A. and Tommy; those in training: Liam and Dayton; and those rapidly recovering from injury: the inimitable Alex Ko). He also made a toast to the children and their families. And Pam and I talked about this. Because it is the children that makes this show so different than most of the shows I have been involved with. The kids keep it all a bit more real. Even though they are also existing in this surreal environment of 8 shows a week plus rehearsals, plus tutoring or home schooling, plus dance classes, plus physio-therapy... they are still just kids, with "Bunny" and teenage angst and growing pains in their legs and rhyming songs sung backstage while waiting for cues and pop culture and computers in their dressing rooms... and a community that they make together in the Imperial Theatre on 45th Street between Broadway and Eighth. This is their playground.

And as for their parents and siblings? Anonymous in a way. But no less dedicated to dropping them off, and picking them up, and adjusting schedules, and checking cell phones, and packing lunches, and giving so much time and effort, namelessly, and many times, face-lessly, to allow these talented children to work on Broadway, telling a story about a community. And there is no community without those children.

Happy Birthday Billy!

You may have read in the papers this week that another Canadian is bound for Broadway and Billy Elliot. Yup. North Bay, Ontario - a mining and logging town on the north east end of Lake Nipissing, a remote and ruggedly beautiful land of water, trees, and rocks - has sent to us the delightful smile and abundant talent that is Liam Redhead.

Oh, and perhaps I have a story of my own to tell about Liam!

As many of you know, in the twelve weeks before I came here, I had the great good-fortune to take community ballet classes at the National Ballet School of Canada. In addition to my training in the highly entertaining classes of Bob McCollum, I asked Mavis Staines, the School’s Director, if I could observe some classes with the young students. As research for my upcoming roll as a dance teacher. Yup.

In June, I watched two different classes that I thought would help me with my work: ten and eleven year old girls, and thirteen and fourteen year old boys. Watching the way these enormously skilled teachers worked with the young bodies of their students was extremely insightful. Truly. And there was this young boy... with dark curly hair, and the brightest smile (that would sneak out unbidden, even in ballet class!) who I could not take my eyes off. Oh, and the teacher was all over him: "Liam, your supporting leg! Liam! Your arms! Liam! Your tummy! Liam! What on earth did you have for breakfast this morning?!". And there's me looking at the kid going... he's perfect, isn't he? I mean, look at him - so light, so easy, so obviously skillful. And then coming to the realisation that it was for precisely that reason the teacher was on him. Be better. Work harder. Don't rely on your natural gifts. Get that technique working for you.

And at the end of class that day the students were practicing a piece they would be showing their parents for the end of year recital... and there was Liam dancing - taking his space, filling the movement with joy, direct from his heart... and oh, the charm! The unmistakeable gift of a young performer.

What did I think? Immediately? Billy Elliot should see this kid.

Skip ahead now to August in New York, and I'm in rehearsal. And the chat turns one day to up and coming Billys, since we know that Kiril will be leaving in September, and Tommy will be going to do the show in Chicago in December, and don't you know!... "Oh, there's a new boy coming from Canada... from the National Ballet School... his name is Liam..."

HAH! I can pick 'em!

(And here is where life imitates art. What did Liam's hip-hop teacher at the Barbara Treleaven School of Dance in North Bay see in him? How did she help him get to classes at the American Ballet Theatre, and become a student at the National Ballet School? Is Liam her Billy Elliot? How many students like him will cross her path in the lifetime of her teaching? Hmmmm. How lucky am I to tell this story day after day.)

And now, November, and Liam is making his way to the stage. We started rehearsing with him on deck last week (did I mention... A FOURTEEN YEAR OLD BOY FROM NORTH BAY ON BROADWAY!), and those rehearsals continue now until he goes in front of an audience in a few weeks. We have a tech rehearsal of Act One this week. And bit by bit he learns to move these enormous dances from solo sessions in the rehearsal hall, to the raked stage, the company, and all lighting, sound, set and costume elements. Undaunted. With his gorgeous hair, and winning smile, and this great unconscious habit of standing on pointe in his tap shoes.

Here's to Liam Redhead. God love ya, kid.

Halloween, Saturday Night, Midtown Manhattan. Need I say more?

It seems Halloween - like Carnivale - has become an opportunity to express one's repressed self in a public display called costume. This reveals a tidy sum about our culture: the young women on the streets of New York clad in the most scanty, lacy, provocative attire possible... and their escorts mostly dressed as psycho-killers. Hmmm. My favourite costume was not one of these, but a woman dressed as a jellyfish! It was a simple, brilliant, and imminently practical costume considering the light rain that was falling on the city that night.

Celebrating Halloween in a company filled with children is such a refreshing change. Weeks before the day, Kyle DesChamps, one of our enormously skillful swings, had set to decorating the backstage staircase with cobwebs and pumpkins and skeletons. Whoooooo. Last week the kids had gone to a party over with The Lion King company, and returned for the second show buzzing. And then Saturday between shows we had our own party: pizza and drinks for the kids and their families, trick or treating from one dressing room to the next, and the piece de resistance... the men's ensemble had put together a haunted house in their dressing room on the fifth floor. The screams from the children echoed throughout the building! It was fantastic. And the children's costumes were far less revealing of any inner struggle than the costumes on the street: from a lady-bird, to a Borg, to a pirate, a few hippies, and... the winner in my books... the extremely clever Tessa Netting came as the Swine Flu. I trust you can imagine.

The rest of the week has gone apace: I feel truly in the swing of things now, having plenty of voice and stamina for eight shows. We were down to two Billys this week: Trent and Tommy. What resilient and dedicated young men they are. It is awesome to work with such inspiring young artists. It sure makes my job a breeze. It is not at all difficult to look at these boys and see their outstanding capabilities. Who needs to act?

After my eighth show yesterday, I went down to Chelsea to see the SITI Company's Antigone, under the direction of Ann Bogart. It was hoping it would be brilliant, but it was only good. However, it is satisfying to see that there is a world of theatre that exists in New York City apart from the commercial ventures of Broadway. It is food for my soul to sit in a room of like minded theatre goers and listen to the timeless fables of those crazy Greeks... cuz let's face it... the story of Antigone and Kreon is basically the way the Greeks revealed their inner sex object and psycho-killer. Not much different than the streets of New York on a Halloween night. Does society ever really change?

P.S. Laugh out loud on the street moment: walking from Ripley-Grier up to the theatre, stopped at the light on 42nd Street beside a guy with headphones on, singing "Help Me Rhonda" at the top of his lungs. Indeed.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. Okay, forget the worst... cuz it really wasn't that... It was my BIRTHDAY last week! And what a special week it was. Thirty-three members of and friends of my family came from Canada (two from Portland, Oregon) to see the show. Two of my cousins came from as far away as Edmonton Alberta. Most of them stayed for five days, and had a fantastic time being tourists, many visiting New York for the first time. They took the bus tour, and the boat tour, and went to museums, and bought out the shops. They went to FAO Schwartz and Tiffany, and had tea at the Plaza. They loved New York! Only too bad that the Yankees were playing out of town!

On Thursday we went for a horse and buggy ride in Central Park (it was sunny and 22 degrees!). The leaves are changing now, and they have already got the skating rink installed in the Park. There were a few skaters out there in shirtsleeves. Quite incongruous.

Then we met (27 of the 33) for dinner at Sardi's. Everyone was dressed up, and looking particularly shiny. What a fantastic meal! and all were treated exceptionally well by the wonderful staff there.

Then to top off their quintessential Broadway experience, they took a quick walk through Shubert Alley to the Imperial Theater on 45th to see a little show called Billy Elliot. They were tickled. After the show members of the cast came onstage to meet them... and my 96 year old great uncle was right up at the front of the stage asking David Alvarez all kinds of questions. So great. So great.

I am so honoured by my family. Imagine making the arrangements (my amazing sister, to thank!) for all those people to come and see me do my work. It really is a remarkable feat. And it was the best birthday present I could possibly have had. In our play, the ballet dancer at the London audition says to Billy's Dad, "You. Get behind your boy," and I feel so grateful that for my career of 28 years, my family has been right behind me all the way. Just an example: my cousin Arvey and his family saw me at the Heathcote Arts Centre (a barn behind The Comfortable Pew Restaurant in Heathcote Ontario) performing for 14 people in a variety show with a pair of jugglers and a stand-up comic. And now they have seen me on Broadway. So great. So great.

And a birthday toast to my new family, too. One that supports me, and welcomes me, and one that I feel honoured by: a family of players that with generosity and open hearts came to meet my real-live family on stage that night. As a gift. For which I am so hugely grateful.

When I was in Copenhagen, it was easy to spot the dog (actually dogs) of the city: the most popular breeds were the West Highland Terrier and the Wire-Haired Dachshund. Hands down. You saw them everywhere. In New York City there are many popular breeds. Certainly the Shi-Tzu, and of course "tea-cup" dogs are extremely fashionable as accessories for men and women alike. But I would have to say, the dog of choice for the New Yorker is the French Bulldog. Yup. They are cute little buggers too. They come in various shades of brindle and tan, they have pointy ears and perky little figures, and they, like their human counterparts, seem fiercely determined, yet slyly humourous.

I think there are as many dogs in Manhattan as people. Because if you don't have a dog, believe me, there is someone next to you on the street that has two, or three... And I have seen every variety: right here in my 'hood there is a St. Bernard, an enormous old brindle Bull Mastiff, a German Shepherd, several Golden Retrievers, a very thin, hearty couple, who walk a very thin elderly hound, Bernese Mountain Dogs (desperately seeking mountains), Portuguese Water Dogs (aching for the Hudson), and so on, etc, etc. The list is endless. The folks here like their dogs.

It's been a good week. The show seems to be settling for me. I am surviving the pace now. My voice is recovering from the initial shock of singing, dancing, and SMOKING! And I am getting used to the daily aches and pains, and finding time for naps and physio. My sweet darling thirteen-year-old boyfriend, Alex Ko, hurt himself in warm-up last week, and is out of the show until he recovers. Ugh. It is completely sick-making. Poor little lamb. So, I am developing my relationships with the other Billys: Tommy Bachelor, David Alvarez, and Trent Kowalik. All sensational. All exceptional. But this little play we are doing does take it's toll.

I was talking to my friend Medina on the weekend. She is a lawyer in Calgary. And I likened my experience (oh... debuting on Broadway tonight, la, la, la) to her arguing in front of the justices of the Supreme Court. How would she feel? I know her family and friends would be pumping with excitement and encouragement, and she would feel the love and all the delicious congratulatory remarks coming from the great white north... but ultimately... she would be focussed on the job at hand. She wrote me in an email this morning (I hope you don’t mind that I post this, Med!):

if I am to liken it to arguing in the supreme court of canada - I would be feeling very nervous (but use the nerves to be thorough) and i would have to remind myself to breathe! I would be relying on my colleagues to guide me particularly through the protocols - where to go, where to change etc. i would be rolling my arguments in my head over and over.
so... here is my advice to you: use your nerves for good and not evil; keep breathing; ask for help and use it; put whatever is useful in your head and ignore the rest.

And that from my lawyer! Sage advice.

Yesterday, I had an interview with Kimberley Kaye at Broadway.com. She asked me if teaching has influenced my work as a performer. What teaching allows me (particularly teaching the elite students at the National Theatre School of Canada) is to witness the art of the beginner: that essence, passion, and clarity which pushes a young actor forward into the unknown, where their fear is dominated by their courage.

And so today, as I head to the shoe-makers, and then to rehearsal, and then to my first performance of Billy Elliot in front of the paying public (which I will take one scene at a time), I think of my family, my friends, and my students: of their support, their excitement, and their en -"courage"-ment. And I carry those wishes with me, as both a shield and an offering of peace, into the unknown.

On deck now. And swinging the bat. (Am I to be Mr. October?!) All the coaches are gathering to signal their final instructions: brushing their chests and tweaking their noses. William starts it off with dialect corrections. I'm a little slow to respond because of weeks of patterns that are set in my brain, but apparently I have to be careful not to slip to the Hebrides, or to Wales (my two favourite alternatives to the Geordie tune) which gives away the game. After only a couple of sessions I find my swing, and things seem to fall into place.
William Conacher is a brilliant dialect coach: he fuels all his choices with action and intention, and in this show he is most concerned that we all sound like we are from the same place. He has been so helpful to me personally since the very first session we had at the call-back here in New York over a year ago, and I am ever grateful for his encouragement and faith.

On Wednesday evening, as my final divertissement before the crack- down, I went to see Fall for Dance at City Centre (I have to learn to spell that word the American way pretty soon...). It was a mixed program of dance delights beginning with an homage to the Ballet Russe by way of a re-staging of Nijinski's choreography to L'Apres-midi d'un Faune, by the Boston Ballet. Oh I loved that! It took me right back to the work we did with Veronica Tennant on the Penelopiad in all its Greek splendour! Unbelievably brave work for 1913, or thereabouts.
Paul Taylor Company then did Offenbach Overtures, which, though it was a huge crowd pleaser, was not my cup of tea. My fave was the Battsheba Company from Israel (a company founded by Martha Graham) doing a brilliant piece of contemporary choreography to Ravel's Bolero. They could have just put that in a loop and I would have been quite content to wile away a few hours in their hypnotic movement. And then topping the evening off was Savion Glover, jamming with his modern jazz band and a couple of other jaw-dropping hoofers. Gob-smackingly impressive.
And fascinating to see where Glover has come as an artist since he was discovered by Gregory Hines at the ripe age of 14 or something. As for the City Centre theatre itself... well, just go and see anything there. The place is a temple of the theatre. Literally.

We had tech rehearsals on Thursday for Act 1 and Friday for Act 2.
That all went really smoothly. The cast and the crew are so helpful, and so supportive. They have been rehearsing a lot on top of their eight show weeks, and yet they sat in the house when they could and cried encouragement for both Alex and me. Unfortunately, none of my costumes were ready for the tech, so I had to wear a few substitute pieces, and simply talk through my costume changes with my BRILLIANT dresser, Margie-Ann. Oh, I am in such good hands there! So although I only get one pass at the clothes next week before I go on, I feel confident that Margie-Ann will get me where I am going in those 30 - second changes, right down to the jewelry.

So... Friday I'm sitting in the house for the first part of the Act 2 rehearsal because I don’t go on for a while, and I am watching the young, completely edible Alex Ko do the dream ballet with sound and flying and Stephen Hanna, the older Billy. And I'm telling you... I couldn't help myself... the tears were streaming down my face. And when the rehearsal stopped to check a few technical things and go again, I turned around to find Carole Shelley and many other members of the company equally verklempt. It's a stunning moment of theatre making. Stunning.

Peter Darling, the choreographer was in the house for both tech rehearsals, and on Friday night we got right down to it. He needs me to look more like a serious dance teacher, and that means introducing a physical shape that is far more controlled than my natural, reflex behaviour. But it feels completely right, if somewhat daunting to achieve. The writing on the wall now: the rest of the time before I go on will be filled with dance rehearsals. I really need to wrap my head (and poor sore feet and aching shoulder) around that. I will save details of all that work, and of the imminent arrival of the head coach and his associate until next time.

P.S. Missing home a bit this week. But too focussed to worry too much about it. Love to you all. There will be a big article in the Toronto Star on Saturday for any of you who might want to look. And I will be posting a blog on the Billy Elliot website (that will include all these missives) as soon as I have a moment.

For many of you who have lived in New York City this will be a familiar tale: the subway doors close and you hear a booming (almost always pain-filled) voice reaching throughout the car, "Good morning ladies and gentlemen..." and what follows is a harrowing story of financial need, and a plea for help however large or small. For all it's glories and wonders New York is home to some of the most harrowing images of poverty, suffering, and pain of both the body and the soul.

That said, on Tuesday morning the train arrived at the station, and as the doors opened I was accosted by none other than the sound of a mariachi band: two spanish guitars and an accordion with three young Mexican men looking to earn some money with their fantastic music! I was very disappointed when they got off at the next station, I'll tell you! But such was my luck, that at 42nd St... on got a pair of gospel singers needing some funding for college, and they too were amazing! Yet, disappointed that I could not stay on board for more and find them some much deserved funding in the recesses of my wallet, I had to get off at the next station and go to work. Darn.

Now. I must take you back a day to Monday. On Monday I met Nicky Gillibrand, our costume designer. Oh, ho, ho, I had the most magnificent costume fitting! This is what sets Billy Elliot apart from the usual Broadway musical (this and rehearsing a replacement for eight weeks!). Haydn Gwynne, who is currently playing Mrs. Wilks. is tall and long limbed and thin, and she looks magnificent in her hideous nineteen-eighties spandex, with shiny bits, and dance skirts, and leg warmers. And I just thought... well, I will look different than Haydn does in those costumes.

OH NO!

On Monday Nicky lays before me an entirely different set of costume designs, not actually designed for me specifically (they were used in the Australian production), but absolutely suited to my body. AND, most importantly... HI-LARIOUS! Breathtakingly awful, in a way only retrospect can truly allow. And as Nicky is draping me in a combination of purple 3-way stretch fabric, with a pink, silver, and black geometric, pink and black stars and moons, tied together with a charming electric teal trim... and saying "Perfect!", I'm (believe it!) agreeing with her! Gah! Too much fun. Oh you guys... you will be howling each time I set foot on that stage wearing another Nicky gem. That is if you recognise me with my groovy Farrah Fawcett hairdo!

So I can't tell you how that put a little fire under me. And my niece Ainsleigh will be delighted to know... I am getting excited about getting onstage! It's true. It feels like we're heading into the home-stretch (fabric) now: two more weeks to go. This week we tech Act One on Thursday, then Act Two on Friday. And members of the creative team begin to trickle in: William Connacher comes to do final touches on dialect; and Peter Darling, the choreographer arrives on Thursday and will watch the tech. Then the following week in come Julian Webber and Stephen Daldrey, which will bring huge amounts of information to be absorbed as they each respond to the work that I have been doing in secret for the last 6 weeks. And I must take in all that information and turn it around in my brain and body, because I will be strutting whatever the result in front of the folks pretty pronto. It's really a bit daunting, but on the other hand, I'm heading up the ramp. I can feel it. And I really am getting excited! And a good part of that has to do with Nicky and her wonderful imagination, and her unapologetic sense of the world of this play. Bring on the batwing denim dress with shoulder pads! I can handle it!

So on Tuesday night when I actually got the singing, the feet, and the rope together for the first time!!! there was much hooting and hollering to be heard from both Sara and me! Oh thank God! Now believe me, it's far from perfect... and it's one of those things that will be a crapshoot every night... but I can at least fudge my way through it now! Yee haw! So the next three weeks promises drilling, oh, and the bit about incorporating those sixteen bars into the rest of the number in which I'll have already done a bunch of singing and dancing with the kid. Oh, and the high B natural I have to hit at the end of all of it... but... never mind all that! The biggest hurdle is passed. Onward.

And so the week went: classes, rehearsals onstage and up at the studio, running the first act scenes a few times with BT (our resident director) and young Alex, just to keep us on top of things: a bit of a holding, improving, and detailing pattern. I got to do Solidarity (a twelve minute number) onstage with the ensemble for the first time. That was a treat. Having met and worked with all the young ballet girls, it was great to meet the men who play the miners and the policemen. And once again, when suddenly there are hulking six foot bodies bouree-ing beside you, where before was only space... it's a whole new ball-game. Then there's the part where I went completely ass-over-tea-kettle while learning the bows (no irony there) and nearly crushed one of the children! Sorr-eeeee.

There was a wonderful tourist capper to the week. On Sunday night I went on a cruise of the New York harbour in an eighty foot sailing ship called the Adirondack. Bobby and Andy, two of the child guardians, invited me, along with their friend Vanessa, her dog Tallulah, and Matt Trent (a new company member from Australia), and what a wonderful experience we all had. The ship cast off from the Chelsea Piers at 8:30pm and we sailed down the Hudson surrounded by the city lights of both Manhattan and New Jersey, alongside Battery Park, and out into the harbour to see the Statue of Liberty. She's pretty impressive any time, but at night she just glows against the night sky. So awesome. And Andy recited her inscription as we passed: "give me your poor, your tired, your huddled masses..." a bit touching really, and a legacy worth remembering. She's a sturdy gal, with thick arms, and small breasts, but she looks really fine from the silent stillness of a ship on a warm, clear Sunday; no sound but the flapping of the sailcloth, and the bubble of conversation from the passengers. Then, it just so happened that as we were tacking back up the Hudson, there was a huge fireworks display up-river! It must have lasted for at least twenty minutes, and it felt like New York was putting it on just for me: here Kate: welcome: thought we'd put on a show...

The narrowest house in the West Village was For Sale when Jack Galligan and Brenda Robins and I made our little tour, guided via an email from Bobby, one of the nine child guardians on the Billy Elliot staff. Only nine feet wide. I was thinking about how to arrange the living room furniture... quite a conundrum. And if you buy a coach house that's down one of the horse walks, you have to make sure your furniture will fit down there (the passage is only as wide as a horses... rear part). And although the four or five row-houses in Grove Court were built as workers houses in the 1800s, apparently one of them sold last year for seven million buckeroos! I can't imagine what the little farmhouse at the corner of Charles and Greenwich St must be worth! EEEEE! And yet, although housing may be an issue, the Village has more charm than you can imagine... and the tea and scones at Tea and Sympathy are worth the real estate woes.

Fun to have visitors to play with!

The work week was tough. I have to say I was working at my edge. We have got to the point now where I am putting numbers together at tempo and the dancing is a challenge to my old bod. Particularly the tapping/skipping/lasso part where you have to sing at the same time. The thing with learning choreography that involves skipping is... YOU CAN'T SLOW IT DOWN! If you slow it down of course, what does the rope do? It stops going over your head and under your feet! Bummer. That means learning all the elements up to speed separately, and then just sort of... praying. The criminal part? I'm only talking about sixteen bars of music!

Sixteen #%*&@! bars. That I spent about 6 hours working on last week!

Oh my. It's like banging your head against a wall. Thank God for Sara (Cara is on holidays, lucky her!) who has the patience of Job. As many times as I'd curse and want to quit she would count me in ... "and five, six, seven, eight..."" and I'd try again. We'd break down sections that we could, and we'd run sections again, and again, and again, the sweat poring off me, the water bottles drained, the towels getting soaked, the shins getting sore. And still only minimal improvement. It's hard to be this frustrated, but... on I go, and hang onto the glorious gains being made in other parts of the show, and even in other parts of the number. And in the delicious relationship I am building with the 14 year old Alex Ko.

So on the day off what a relief it was to find a piece of paradise right at the end of my street. I discovered South Riverside Park: a new park that has been built around the ruins of some of the old shipping piers in the Hudson River. So peaceful. Wildflowers, rushes, grasses, a boardwalk, and a huge long pier that juts halfway into the water, just five minutes from my apartment door. I will spend many a Monday there, I just know it. To enjoy the air, the water, and little moments of bliss after a tough week on Broadway.

It was back to class this week. Or classes. I started the week with a ballet class taught by Miranda. (Everyone has to forgive the last name thing... when there are over a hundred people involved in a show and most of them have character names as well as real names... well, the old brain has a meltdown.) Fantastic class. It is such a great way to keep the joints oiled and the muscles firing, and to remember how much I love dancing.

Had a boxing class on Friday morning with Jason Lee (okay... there's my last name theory shot to hell in an instant!). I miss my Terrance... my boxing coach in St. Catharines (though Jason is fantastic, and we are going to have a great time working together, especially because he was very impressed by my fitness level, by my skipping ability! and by the training that Terrance had achieved. That made me feel good).

And then the same day, a two hour tap class with Sara (oh, I do hope it's not a gender thing... wouldn't that be embarrassing!). Im happy to say that my skill level in all these areas has improved so much since May with all the great training I had before I came here. And now I just want to get even better, stronger, faster...

Julian was back this week. And left me with a compelling memory:
Okay. Most of my scenes in the show take place during or around the classes that Mrs. Wilkinson teaches in the community hall. These classes are full of girls. The Ballet Girls - as they're referred to on the schedule. For the first time, I was putting two of my big numbers together with these girls, having until now done them only with empty space. Now. They are all doing hi-larious and outrageous antics throughout. So on the first rehearsal I found myself stopping and laughing every 2 bars: it was impossible to get all the way through. Then the next day, when we all met with Julian for the first time, all hell broke loose.

Julian wanted the girls to introduce their characters to me. So they each took a turn self-describing in the glorious and honest detail only children can manage to achieve. And me, writing it all down in my script. Then he directed the girls to turn the volume up on their characters as high as they could go: in other words, if they were frightened, to be REALLY frightened... if they were talkative, to be DOUBLY talkative, if they had a feud with someone in the group... well, you can imagine. I, in the meantime, was to continue the scene as usual.

Well. Bedlam had nothing on these girls, I'm just saying. The room was shaking. My ears (and brain) were exploding. And through all this, I'm meant to concentrate and deliver my lines, and sing, and move, and do all the bits! Gah! Talk about an exercise in concentration. And on top of that all the lines in the scene are delivered on beats of the music... and I could barely even hear the piano, let alone the sound of my own voice.

In the end we all just fell apart laughing. And when they took it all back down to a normal level... well, wasn't the number a cakewalk! Ultimately, the achievement was... I certainly knew the girls and their characters better than when I first entered the room with them. And of course, I had a new found respect for their ability, their commitment, and the detail in the work that they do everyday on that stage.

And putting all my bits together...? Well, that will come in time. And I still have a good amount of time.

It is somewhat incongruous to look out the window of my apartment and see horses and carriages. You can imagine. Not exactly the vehicular traffic one would expect on West End Avenue in 2009. Delightful. The horses (I'm told) live down around 52nd and 11th, and I see them on their way to and from work in Central Park, pulling their flower clad barouches. Millions of yellow cabs, and the occasional anachronism.
I live just at the edge of many great amenities: a five minute walk from Lincoln Centre, and from Riverside Park. Central Park is a twenty minute walk; fifteen minutes to 72nd and Broadway, or to Columbus Circle. And about a half an hour walk to the Imperial Theatre, where I will soon be working. That's the 'hood.
In my first week here I went to see a free concert of spoken word and world music at Lincoln Centre Out of Doors. I expected to just stop in for a listen, and ended up staying for five and a half hours! as the music and the poetry became more and more exciting and I just couldn't tear myself away. I also went with friends to a free performance by choreographer Christopher Wheeldon's company, Morphoses with special musical guest Martha Wainwright in Central Park. Magnificent! Oh how I love the dance. Both events were an easy walk from my little apartment. Cool.
I haven't seen any theatre... mostly because I'm broke... but also because I'm working afternoon/evenings, and Monday, the dark day just about everywhere, is my only night at home. There's certainly stuff I'd like to see, and I'm sure I'll find a way to do that soon.
Meantime, the second week of rehearsals went well. I worked with B.T. (the Resident Director), and the charming young Alex Ko, who is going on as Billy the same night I go on as Mrs. W. (We're getting to be a real team). He is delightful. And shockingly gifted. And the way he says "okay" after every direction he receives, makes me weak. Gorgeous.
I also spent a lot of time with the magnificent Kate Dunn (the Resident and Associate Choreographer) getting the three numbers on their feet. Extremely complicated work, mostly because there are always a gaggle of people on stage doing elaborate and extraordinary things, which are only described to me by Kate since we have none of those people in rehearsal. (Oh, you see that's something I haven't explained... when I am called it is basically &all me all the time. So rehearsals require a totally concentrated effort to keep absorbing information which is to this point only available in my imagination. Julian has said not to go see the show for a while. I'm happy with this directive as it means I can get my own handle on character and story. The down side though, is that I am working from the memory of having seen the show once, last November. Anyway. Not exactly a straightforward process. But nevertheless, I'm in, and playing, and having a great deal of fun!)
Also in the week: some great tap work with Cara (sorry Cara, don't know your last name yet...). And I am happy to say that even the tap/skipping work is showing improvement.
A party Sunday night at Gregory Jbara's (he won the Tony as the Dad) marked my first real social time with the Company. I met a few of the folks I will be working with, and spent a good part of the evening talking to Haydn Gwynne: the woman I am replacing as the dance teacher. That was so great. She's seen a lot over the past year, and is extremely generous and willing to share with me and to help me in any way she can. That spirit, and a pretty fantastic margarita! made a great end to the week.
And that's it, I think. Northrop the cat, is settling. He's come off the fridge... and is even sitting on the chaise with me, beside our floor to ceiling windows, watching the horses and the cabs.

From the window outside the Studio at Ripley-Grier you can see the Empire State Building, among the castle peaks of various other amazing deco towers. The hallways are crowded with actors and singers, directors and pianists, children, parents, veterans and hopefuls. They resound with the not always dulcet tones of warming up and rehearsing and (god-forbid people should hear you so clearly!) auditioning. It’s kind of like FAME: almost mythological in its predictability.

Ripley-Grier is an entire floor (plus!) of studios on 8th Avenue. The walls are bubble-gum pink when you get off the elevator, with a sort of tropical theme. The chairs that line the halls are wicker, shaded by huge plants in each of the windows. There's even a little snack-bar called the Oasis, which... trust me... is one.

It's hot in New York. Stinking hot. And I mean stinking. The smells on the streets here are often a personal invasion: too much urine: human, canine, and even equine! But up on the 16th Floor the air-conditioning is blowing, and the real-live-world of the garment district seems miles away. We are in musical-theatre-land.

My first week of rehearsal was spent in the anarchic hands of Julian Webber, the Associate Director. Julian is wild. Really. Wild. His short cropped salt and pepper hair stands up at various angles as he brushes his hands through it searching for thoughts and words. He's tall, and looms over the boys. He tips his green glasses off his nose for emphasis. He has a potty mouth. And is adamant. Perfect. The world of this play.

We work through each scene in painstaking detail. This gives me loads of time to settle into the material, but is mostly for the children: they need such specificity. Oh! and they are brilliant. Each boy that plays Billy (and there are five that I am working with right now... four actually doing the show, and one little guy, Alex, who will start the same day I start... which is now October 6th) is so completely different. Each has been given his own little moments of leeway to make the part his own. Each moves differently, responds differently, and instantly there is a different relationship between me and each one of these young treasures. We may have been wondering why the BE folks wanted me to rehearse for eight weeks, but I think I know now: in many ways, I am rehearsing five different shows. Of course the lines are the same, and the blocking is basically the same, but I will have a different scene partner (and all my scenes in the play but one are with this young man) for each show.

So... scene work, rehearsals with the musical director, David Chase, a wig-wrap, a costume fitting, and straight into the tap/skipping stuff so I can get that under my belt... and that was the first week of work.

On the home front, my boxes came from UPS and of the few of my favourite things that I sent from St. Kits, the lion's share were broken. This is extremely upsetting and has left me with the added administration of an insurance claim to deal with. Pooh! Bah! And beautiful things lost, including a vase from Denmark and a porcelain canister from Florence, among the other shards. Irreplaceable really.

My little apartment begins to feel like a home, and I am already entertaining... a feat rarely accomplished in NYC apparently! I am making friends, and connecting with acquaintances from White Christmas, and contacting the list of Canadian ex-pats down here for one reason or another. Partners in this adventure. No longer (as I still am) strangers in this strange land.

Thank God for Pam and Sam.

When you're getting up at six o'clock in the morning to change your life, you want a good friend right there with a cup of tea. And of course, a limo driver that you know. I had both, and the day progressed with the smoothness of its beginning. When all was said and done -- after the line-ups at the airport what with "Family" day, the over-weight luggage (I had to take one of my Shakespeare lexicons outof my red suitcase and squish it in my carry-on which would neverclose again... I would have to drag the heaviest books with me on theairplane!), the cat pee-ing himself. the hi-larious Rimon (my driverfrom Brooklyn - this is my third adventure with him driving me to and from La Guardia), signing the lease, bathing the cat, the furniture moving in, the phone being hooked up, my first trip to the not-so-great grocery store across the street -- I had a frozen pizza and a glass of beer (not wine, as I had envisioned) looking around my very small (compared to my house) apartment, and spent my first night on


I'm adjusting. I have a chaise-longue in my little alcove of windows looking out over West End Avenue, and I just know that I am going to spend a lot of time right here: writing and dreaming. It's not my porch, but it is a great new place of inspiration.

My contract is signed, my boxes are in transit (they were held up in Buffalo because UPS lost the artful contents-lists that my sisters and I worked so hard to create!), my internet is not yet hooked up (because UPS has failed to deliver the router, not once, but three times!), so I'm steeling it from the ether, and I start rehearsals at a studio on Broadway and 39th on Tuesday. I've already discovered the nearest vet, cat food supplier, hardware store, health food store, cheap and cheerful wine store, subway, bookstore, and sushi delivery. I've already ordered from Target. And from Fresh Direct. Oh, let's face it: I'm a Noo Yawkah!

There is plenty for me to discover in this rich jungle. I will take my time doing that. My priority is to get the cat off the top of the fridge. And I hope to do that by making this little white box into an ease-filled home.

I am always so grateful for your love and support. And I will keep you posted with little missives from time to time. It was my plan to write a series of letters from New York to my friend Neil Munro, to lighten his heart... but alas. I hope I will lighten yours.