(From the Janesville Messenger, 4-19-2015)
Being
involved in community theater makes you do funny things.
That
doesn't always mean presenting comedic lines. Sometimes, what you
have to do to prepare for a stage role is the bigger, and stranger,
challenge.
For
instance, learning how to juggle beer cans. Or how to imitate Julia
Child. Or how to talk like a donkey. Or how to waltz - while wearing
a bulky clock costume - with someone dressed as a wardrobe. That
particular dance ended up being cut from the show, a decision that
may have saved lives.
Away
from rehearsals, however, my only obvious concession to being cast in
a play has been the addition of facial hair. Whenever whiskers
sprout, friends and relatives automatically assume there's a play in
my future. They are often right. For “Camelot,” it meant growing
a full beard that came in so white, it added years to my appearance.
As soon as the final audience was gone, so was the beard. To play
Cogsworth in “Disney's Beauty and the Beast,” my facial
enhancement was a snazzy Frank Zappa moustache and soul patch combo
that I was quite fond of.
But
for a recent role as a priest in the drama “Doubt,” the director
requested two beautification events that are generally avoided by
males of the species.
My
character was at least a decade younger than my real age and the
director thought my graying temples were not right for the role. A
request was made to have my hair dyed back to its darker original
color.
Chemicals
in my hair is not a foreign concept for me. In my late teens, my
sister gave me home perms to give me a hip afro, like a Caucasian
Billy Preston or a “Hotel California”-era Don Henley. Many years
later, I made an ill-fated attempt at dying the aforementioned white
beard at home, which ended in a stained-face disaster reminiscent of
an Emmett Kelly poster.
The
risk of looking like I was fighting middle age was one thing. Growing
my fingernails long was nearly a deal-breaker.
My
character's long fingernails are mentioned several times in the
play's dialogue. There is even a point where he shows off his nails
to the audience. Reluctant to use fake nails for fear of them falling
off during a performance, the director asked me to grow mine out.
The
biggest concern was that, being in sales, long nails would look
unprofessional and require explanation. But I dutifully followed
instructions and allowed them to progress uncut.
Oh.
My.
They
were barely half the length they needed to be, and I was already
going crazy. Longer nails just felt wrong. There were weird clicking
sounds when I typed. Scratching an itch drew blood.
It
was time to revisit the fake nail scenario. A nice, if amused, young
woman at a beauty supply store helped me pick out some press-on
nails. Trying them on for a rehearsal, it became apparent that losing
one during a show was not a concern; those suckers weren't going
anywhere. The director approved. My real nails could be cut. Oh, joy.
Rapture!
Thankfully,
one of the females in the cast asked how I was planning on removing
the nails. Unbeknownst to me, normal nail polish remover wasn't going
to work. She said it would require pure acetone. It might have made
for an interesting evening at home if she hadn't mentioned that.
Wearing
my winter gloves to disguise my benailed fingers, I made a second
trip to the beauty supply store. To my surprise, when you buy pure
acetone, you have to show your ID. Apparently, not only does acetone
do a great job removing fake nails, but also your faculties; it can
be used to produce meth. You can't say this wasn't a learning
experience.
As
it turned out, a cast illness resulted in the show's cancellation, so
having my hair dyed turned out to be in vain. Or at least, that's
what some people assume.
Anyone
need a bottle of pure acetone?
