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.