A Role To Dye For

(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?