Sunday, July 17, 2005

The Woes of Widow Corney

We had our first run-through on Friday night, the week before opening night. All in all, it wasn't so bad. It's not performance level yet, but we've got four days to get it together.

Thank God my Mr. Bumble is a great actor. I'd be hanging from the lighting rig if he weren't.

There was drama, nonetheless. Here I was, Friday night, minding my own business, with my feet up on the chair and re-reading my Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (so I could fully enjoy my new book the next day, natch-yes, I know I'm a geek), and Costume Lady comes up to me, saying that the producer (I'll just call her "Cunt Rag", because that's what she is) is "freaking out" about my shoes (I was wearing tan character shoes at the time, which I've been wearing for all my rehearsals) and was I going to wear them for the performances. "Well, yeah", I answered, "I was planning to, why?". Well, apparently Cunt Rag was was upset because they weren't black character shoes, and therefore not "period" (ie. in keeping with the time period of the show) and Cunt Rag tells Costume Lady that I have to wear black ones (which I do have). "Uh, okay" I tell her, slightly annoyed because (a) Costume Lady should have told me this weeks ago, since it's her job and (b) Cunt Rag has, over the past two weeks, had a nasty habit of sticking her nose into everyone's business and being extremely annoying to everyone in the cast and production staff. So, I go back to my book.

Ten minutes later, Costume Lady comes back to me and says that Cunt Rag told her to tell me that I need to wear black stockings and black shoes because it's "period". So, I have finally had it. I've put up with sitting around for weeks on end, having to listen to four different people tell me four completely different things, and I kinda snapped. I told her that I was not going to buy anyhing else for this show, and that unless the company provided me with it, they can forget it. I then went back again to my book.

It was at this point that hell started to break loose. Cunt Rag comes up to me and tells me "This old retiree will buy you some black stockings" and I told her to forget it, that I was tired of having four different stories, that I was tired of sitting around. So Cunt Rag says that they're telling everyone individually because "nobody's ever around at the same time to hold a costume meeting" (bullshit) and that it's not her fault I sit around, that "perhaps you need to speak to your cast members that don't know what they're doing, so they don't have to run one number for an hour" BITCH! I just let her rant, because I was easier than lose my temper, which I was dangerously close to doing.

Just as a background, Cunt Rag has been producing every summer show there. She's constantly on the production staff about ridiculous things, constantly gives her opinion when it's not welcomed, and is a general pain in the anal orifice. Normally, a producer will write down anything that they feel needs tweaking or changing and then give it to the director or stage manager. Not Cunt Rag. She just comes up to the said person, who could be in the middle of doing something (like scenework) and just start blabbing away. Personally I think that a big reason that this particular group has such a hard time finding (and keeping) performers is because of her-my own brother-in-law 'Lil Man was on the board of this group and stepped down because of her bullshit. He has yet to be in another production, because of her. But, I digress....

So, yesterday I had to go to this bridal shower, which was about an hour away. My mobile rings, and it's the director. Long story short, Cunt Rag calls the director and tells her that I'm "unhappy" with the way the director has been doing things. So, I freak out and tell the director that I didn't say that, and told her the story. Basically, Cunt Rag is just stirring up trouble. I want to kick her ass, but, honestly, it isn't worth it.

I can't wait until this is over, which is a shame. I just have to concentrate on my own performance and not worry whether or not this will be a shitty show. It's a sad way to do things, but necessary for my own sanity. I just can't afford to have any stress right now.

1 comment:

Shelli said...

Just be good on Sunday, darling, then we'll go have a beer.