Macbeth: The Bearded Scottish Tragedy

My husband Randy and I were doing a bit of shopping one fine afternoon when that fateful call (you know, the one all actors wait longingly for!!) came on his cell phone. I didn't need more than one guess as to who it was.

Randy looked over at me, his cellular flip phone still pressed to his ear, and asked, "Scott (Macbeth director Scott Campbell) is offering me a part in Macbeth. Should I take it?" Silly question. Randy happily accepted the part of Ross, a Scottish nobleman, and practically sang all the way home.

But, after the initial excitement of knowing he had just been cast in a show had passed, Randy soon became pensive. I could tell he was planning...contemplating...deciding. He came to me, sat down and made his careful, almost apologetic declaration. "I think I will have to grow a beard."

A beard.....sigh.

It could have been worse, I suppose. Randy might have been cast in "Annie," playing Daddy Warbucks, which would have obligated him to shave his head. So, a beard is certainly not the real tragedy in this story. The murders of King Duncan, Banquo, Lady Macduff and her son, now THAT is tragic. A beard is simply a temporary dramatic device.

It started out well enough. The five o'clock shadow that soon developed was rather becoming on him. It gave him that rugged look, in the same way that Don Johnson made the "unkept face" look chic during his Miami Vice days. Soon, as the beard grew more pronounced, I noticed that the hairs did not match the medium brown on his head. The beard was gray. Actually, white, to be exact. No longer was Randy given to the Miami Vice look. He now passed over to the Old Man look.

I tried to see the light side of things. I joked that Randy was now an old geezer, and I was his trophy wife. I stroked his beard and threatened to put a ribbon in it and make it into a ponytail on the chin. I told him I looked forward to the day that I would no longer be married to Santa Claus. And so it went.....day after day looking at a man I no longer recognized.....wondering who this fellow with a strange profile was sleeping next to me at night....wanting to ask this elderly gentleman, "Who are you and what have you done with my husband Randy?"

But, after weeks of rehearsals and agonizing over his Shakespearean dialogue, it was finally opening night. My brother Ko and I sat in my favorite section of the house at the Lakewood Playhouse (section I, second row). The set design was wonderful, with the Birnam Wood recreated simply and beautifully.

As the lights went up, the marvelously costumed actors took the stage and spirited us away to a far away land in a long ago time. As the beauty of Shakespeare's language mesmerized us, I was transported to a magical world of swordplay, royal ceremony and witch's brew.

Then, a handsome old man entered the story. It was Randy! How fitting he was, so much a natural part of the tale, with his kilt, his walking staff...and his beard. What was "unfitting" in Tacoma, Washington was now a thing of beauty in Macbeth's kingdom of Scotland. Randy was so regal, so noble....so handsome!

After the final curtain call, the spell had broken. Macbeth had been murdered by Macduff, the Thane of Fife. Malcolm ascended to the throne of his murdered father, King Duncan. All of Scotland began to hope anew. Randy and I went back home to our cozy condo overlooking Commencement Bay in Tacoma. I looked at my talented actor/husband and again marveled at his beard. With his 21st century clothing back on, I gazed upon the Man Who Would Be Ross. So handsome. So strong. So noble. So......gray.

Yep. I can't wait until closing day of this show, when the razor comes out and gives me back my husband. Shakespeare's Macbeth may be magical, but I sure do miss my Randy...my handsome, clean-shaven Randy. All I can think to say is, "Out, damn beard! Out, I say."