So we are
hurtling towards the Opening Night of Dick Whittington in Fleet with one day to
go. Things have been, to put it
politely, hectic. Having worked for many
years in corporate entertainment- in the main, shows, conferences, exhibitions
and entertainment – I was very used to burning the midnight oil towards the
beginning of a function, and it appears that the same applies to the
theatre. This is the part when all those
months of rehearsing and training comes to fruition. It is also the time when little things like
the costumes, lighting, sound and stage set become a reality – and oh boy, does
that make an enormous impact…
First time
show, first time venue – dear reader, how many times have I said this? But all because it also has a real bearing on
the general approach to, and reaction to, the show. The venue has very little in the way of stuff
or staff needed for a professional show (bear in mind it was rescued from
closure by the council only three years ago) and so everything has had to be
brought in – from the crew to the lighting, to the sound, even to the tiered seating
that the audience is sitting on. This is literally a leap into the unknown, a
labour of love from all the cast and crew, and all of whom are hoping fervently
that they will have an audience to play to.
In this respect, there are a number of shows that are sold out, and
indeed (thank God) there are no days in which the venue are struggling – such is
the leap of faith of all the local people (and the generous exposure in the
papers).
One of the
attractions about this show from the very start was the passion and conviction
of the producer/scriptwriter/star Amanda Goldthorpe-Hall, who allowed the
children from the local areas a break – despite their relative inexperience in
pantomime, she saw a spark in each individual she picked, and the rest is
history. The kids have worked
tirelessly, without complaint, and lapping up praise. When their attention wanders, she has a Stare,
focusing in on the offending children and lowers her voice so that the kids crane
to hear what she is saying (Note to Self: must try this at home as shrieking at
Teenager is giving me a sore throat and not working). She also seems to be an adept Jack of all
Trades -she’s been in the business so long that she instinctively knows how to
do the Marketing, Directing and when a production note is off. More importantly, she is adaptable – if something
doesn’t work, she doesn’t make it work, she tries an alternative. But she’s not infallible. And she needs the back up of a good team. She has recruited well – we have Sergeant
Major Caz, the Head Chaperone, and her Deputy Rachel, we have a professional cast who are a delight to work
with and are very kid friendly, and she has appointed a technical team who are
single minded in their dedication to the job in hand. On the exterior, The Harlington staff are
doing their best to maintain ticket sales and accommodate the demands of a show
of which they have never seen the likes of before.
And then
you have us, the Mummies who have got chaperone licences and are not sure what
this means… Until this weekend, and the Tech Days…
Anyone who
has been in the theatre will know what the Tech Days entail – hours of setting
lights, sound, and sorting out the realities of the scenes, i.e. has Jimmy
really got time to run under the stage and appear as a Ferocious Beast in two
minutes? Caz was ill and Rachel stepped
up admirably to the plate on Day 1 in charge of three of us (plus some
shadowers). We had a crib sheet, we
could see the costumes of all 12 kids (interchangeable between each team), and
all their accessories were laid out in clearly labelled areas of the tables in
a very small dressing room. The
character Fred (the only juvenile boy) had a small screened off area in which
to change, which also contained the dressing room fridge. All seemed to be very straightforward… until
the tech rehearsal started… Half way through
the day, as Fred (not mine) was struggling to get out of his fully buttoned
waistcoat and two of us were ripping it off before he raced under the stage to appear
as a sea monster, only to miss his cue because the sea monster kit was missing,
I turned to my fellow chaperone and said ‘This really isn’t working’. Amanda took one look at the situation and
solved it in one fell swoop. Up in the dressing room we had a faulty sound
system and thus could not hear the cues from off stage, and so a mum sat out in
the auditorium with a full script and ran in to tell us when to go. There were two quick change scenes when we
had two panicking girls with knotted ballet pumps ribbons, and we had one child
with a panic attack and one who needed an asthma inhaler. Because we were trying it out team by team,
we had props in the wrong place, kids in the wrong place, and for someone who
is hard pushed to tell Left from Right, introducing Stage Left and Stage Right
into the equation was tantamount to disaster. This was not the Herding Sheep
vision that I had had of Chaperoning, this was full on show responsibility. But we got through it, with a lot of stopping
and starting, and I was delighted to hear at the end of the day (only because
it stopped me feeling inept), that it had been simplified a bit.
One of the
mums who had been watching, ready to step in as chaperone on Tech Day 2, came
in to the rather sweaty dressing room at the end of the day, her eyes
shining. ‘That was absolutely BRILLIANT!’
she exclaimed. I was ecstatic. I’ve not really been a part of this process,
only by virtue of being Little Man’s mum have I got involved – but once you
are, you really are, and it was like someone had said that my baby was
beautiful… and I beamed.
I looked
round for Little Man. He was nowhere to be seen. I found him at the entrance to his dressing
room. He was allowing the giggling girls
in, three at a time, on an inspection tour of the room and the fridge.
He’s got ShowBiz
sussed that boy…
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