I am sure you have heard that over-used motto about it taking a village to [insert worthy cause here]. You know, when someone wants to point out how we are "all in this together," or that we all need to do our share in this world. Most often the motto is quoted when addressing the needs of children.
It may indeed take a village to raise a child, I'm not going to question that jewel of wisdom. But, sometimes this adage must also be applied to situations beyond child-rearing and education. Because, sometimes, it takes that village to raise a Tuna.
No, I'm not talking about the kind of tuna that swims in the sea and makes good sashimi. I'm referring to Tuna, Texas, the 3rd smallest town in the Lone Star State. Well, no...not really. There really isn't any place called Tuna on a Rand-McNally map of Texas.
But in Theatre World, the Greater Tuna area is legendary...almost mythical, and Randy and I had the privilege of being in the village that raised Tuna.
When the Lakewood Playhouse announced that their managing directors Marcus Walker and Scott Campbell were planning to perform "Greater Tuna" as a fund-raiser for the theater, I immediately thought, "I could help out! I should volunteer to be the assistant stage manager."
Normally, working as a stage manager or assistant stage manager (better known as the "ASM") is not my idea of a fun way to spend 4 weekends. After all, you are usually stuck back stage with temperamental actors, grumpy stagehands and half-crazed directors and costumers barking last minute orders.
But, something inside me told me to do it anyway. You see, in the world of live theater, there are times when you get to be on stage, and there are times when you work to allow others to get on stage. This was the time, I told myself, that I should labor for another actor's glory.
Randy agreed, and quickly jumped in and volunteered to be stage manager. Whew! At least I knew I could get along with the stage manager on this project!
So, after many rehearsals, numerous production meetings and the filming of silly promotional trailers that were posted on YouTube, "Greater Tuna" was born. Marcus and Scott played all 20 characters in the show, both the males and females.
A crew of 5 dresser/changers worked backstage to make Marcus and Scott into quick-change artists. Randy called the cues from the tech booth, and I donned my walkie-talkie headset and called "places!" to our actors and crew.
We did 2 whirlwind weekends, with 6 performances per weekend. The actors worked feverishly through each show. The dressers became a well-oiled machine of costuming magic. The audiences laughed until they almost cried. "Greater Tuna" was a hit!
The fans of the Lakewood Playhouse praised Marcus and Scott's brilliant work. And rightfully so. They deserved all the credit they got. The rest of the production staff: the director, the dressers, the costumers, set and lighting designers and the stage managers were nearly invisible. Tired, ragged and worn-out, yes, but feeling like all their hard work was well worth it.
As it turns out, "Greater Tuna" was Scott's last hurrah at the Lakewood Playhouse. Two days after Tuna closed, he was notified that he got the job as head of another theater group across town. He'll soon be leaving Lakewood and will be sorely missed.
As the leaders of their respective theater companies, Marcus and Scott won't often get to be on the stage. They will usually be kept busy being those great people (better known as "producers") who work to allow others to get on stage.
I am so glad that Randy and I got to be one of the privileged few who worked to help Marcus and Scott get on stage. I was glad to be in their village... their theatrical village.
And you know what the best part of the deal was? I spent 12 performances back stage, and never once ran into any temperamental actors, grumpy stagehands or half-crazed directors or costumers. I only got to work with a terrific village full of great theater artists.
Of course, there was that grumpy assistant stage manager....don't know when I'll ever have to work with HER again........
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."
A call came on my cell phone one afternoon. It was Marcus Walker, the managing artistic director of The Lakewood Playhouse. "Have you thought about auditioning for our production of 'Once on This Island?'" he asked. "No," I said. "Why not?" inquired Marcus. "Because I'm not black," I informed him. "Well, that doesn't matter. We're thinking of having a multicultural cast," he countered.
"Hmmmm," I thought, "I'm not so sure about this." But, whenever a director invites me to audition for a show, I consider it good form to show up to the audition. After all, it is usually meant as a compliment when you are invited to try-outs.For those not familiar with the show, "Once on This Island" is a tale that takes place on a mythical Caribbean island, populated by dark skinned people. One glance in the mirror made it clear that I didn't exactly qualify on that count. But, it seems that at least one theater director in town thought otherwise.
Apparently, the person whom he hired to direct the show also thought otherwise. "Island" director Julie Halpin offered me a part in the show...as a member of the company who portrayed everything from a light-skinned black woman to a dark-skinned peasant. I even played inanimate objects, such as a gate, a shrub, and a tree.
Oh, and let's not forget some of the other aspects of the show that stretched my skill and imagination. As a minimally-trained dancer (in other words, ballet lessons as a small child and tap dance classes in college), I found myself as a fifty-something "dancer" jumping, twirling and shaking along side kids less than half my age. Age is irrelevant, you say? Perhaps, but let's not forget the injured back and menopausal hot flashes that bring me endless discomfort and pain. But, I danced, I sang (did I mention the sore throat that required antibiotics to heal?) and I blossomed (I played a tree and shrub, after all....)!
There was a valuable lesson to be learned there. We actors are always moaning about how directors tend to typecast us. You know, always casting us in the same type of roles, never letting us stretch our artistic boundaries in new and different ways. I realized that I had kind of done the same thing to myself. I am an Asian actor, a female actor, a character actor....but the common word here is ACTOR.
I once read a quote attributed to Whoopi Goldberg. "An actress can only play a woman. I am an actor. I can play anything." Anything...including a flowering bush.
So, what limits am I putting on myself? What experiences am I denying myself because of those self-imposed limitations? Good questions. What can I do to help rid myself of these barriers? I may not know the answer to that one, but it has gotten me thinking, planning and dreaming. I am seeing past the image in the mirror and exploring what is inside me.
Most importantly, though, when I hear of a new and different opportunity for a role that I am totally wrong for, I may just audition for it anyway.
Long, long ago in the year 2006, I somehow got myself cast in Thornton Wilder's play, "Our Town" at the Lakewood Playhouse.
Don't ask me how that happened. It's a long story. You see, we actors of color usually stay as far away as we can from auditioning for shows like this. "Our Town," which takes place in rural New Hampshire in 1901, doesn't exactly conjure up images of a multicultural society. Well..perhaps there might have been an occasional non-white house servant, but other than that, Grover's Corners, NH is normally seen as a White Bread kind of town.
But, thanks to an enlightened director, Doug Kerr, who sees past an actor's color when casting a show, I found myself playing Mrs. Myrtle Webb, and the only non-white actor in the production. And I am so glad he chose me. But, not for the reasons you might suspect.No...it wasn't because I appreciated the opportunity to perform in a classic piece of American literature. And it wasn't because I relished the thought of racially integrating the cast, or making a "statement" about what it means to be an American.It was much more self-centered than that. When I became Mrs. Webb, something beautiful happened. I had the pleasure of playing opposite a wonderful actor named Randy Clark who played my husband Editor Webb. Sparks flew, and we fell in love, both on and off stage. 10 months later, we were married. It was a dream come true.
You've heard all those Hollywood couple names: TomKat, Brangelina, Bennifer? Well, we have become RandAya. Corny, yes. But it perfectly describes how we feel. We both love acting. We love the theatre. We love the stage. Most of all, we love being RandAya.
Who knew that an "old chestnut" of a play that is usually performed by mostly high school drama clubs could bring me such happiness?
Thornton Wilder never knew what a matchmaker he is. He just thought he was a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright.
