A theatre story. Years ago (I forget how many, and I’d rather not think about how many years ago it was, so I’m just going to stick with “years ago), I was in a production of Hamlet. I was playing the triple role of the Ghost, the Player, and the Gravedigger. I was actually a late addition to the cast (and by late, I joined the cast about two weeks into rehearsal), and spent the first little while trying not to be intimidated by being in a Shakespeare play (and Hamlet nonetheless).
These days, Shakespeare doesn’t phase me at all, but back then, I was a recent graduate of Theatre School and since school is an enclosed and specialized environment, my confidence at the beginning was a little shaky. I got over that though.
Rehearsals were a learning experience. Having just come from theatre school, I had some specific ideas about how reheasals were “supposed” to be. I learned that in practice, not every actor prizes things like being on time and showing up for rehearsals on a reliable basis. Turns out that some actors don’t consider these things important. I also learned about how actors tend to relate to each other in the “real world”, and watched as a long term relationship between two actors who had worked together for many many years was on the verge of self-destructing (in the end, it didn’t – mostly due to the inhuman patience of one of them).
However, I survived the rehearsal process and we Opened without incident. The first week was good, and we found audiences responding relatively well to the performance. Feeling pretty good about ourselves, we finished the first week and there was some revelry, and Jenngo, who was stagemanaging the show, showed me how the gang in the booth were passing the time: they were drawing and captioning cartoons.
They had some real beauties: A drawing of kermit and grover hanging out and smoking: the captions was: “muppets dallying” (inspired by the line: I could tell the difference between you and your love if I could see the puppets dallying).
A Picture of the Palace janitor, who’s name was Pat. (inspired by Hamlet’s line, Now might I do it pat. However, if you insert a comma, it becomes a question: Now might I do it, Pat?).
They were all quite silly, and all patently unfunny to anyone who does not have a familiarity with the show that performing it can give.
There was one more. One fateful cartoon: a drawing of the Player, striking at two short greeks. This was inspired by the Player’s line:
“Anon he finds him
Striking too short at Greeks; his antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,”
I thought this was the most hilarious thing. I remember giggling histerically when I first read it. I repeated it, and laughed some more.
We had a few days off, before the run continued, and during these days off, I played with the phrase quite often, going so far as to repeat the speech with the “new” wording:
“Anon he finds him
Striking at two short Greeks; his antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,”
Jenngo and I both enjoyed this, and found it funny. Jokingly, we said things like “wouldn’t it be funny if I said that in performance?” and knowing that I would never say that in performance, made us laugh more.
Before the next performance, the actor playing Hamlete approached Jenn about this, having heard me going on about the “two short greeks” backstage.
“He’s not going to say that in performance, is he?” he said.
“Of course not,” Jenngo answered, “Phil’s a professional.”
And that night, as the curtain went figuratively up, we were faced with our largest crowd yet. The Reviewer for the Toronto Star was present. And the show got off to a great start. It was shaping up to be one of those performances that just rocks.
And then came the Player scene. In this scene, the players have arrived at Elsinore, and Hamlet and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern greet them. Hamlet cooerces the lead Player to perform a favourite speech. And the Player obliges.
And when it came time, as I normally did, I jumped up on the table that was present and launched into the speech:
‘Anon he finds him
Striking at two short Greeks;’
And suddenly, in the middle of the speech, I realize what I have said. Still speaking, I can feel the laugh pulling at the corner of my mouth. I know I’m not the only one who heard it either. Desperately trying to fight off the laugh that I know is fighting to come out, I look at the actors playing my fellow players. However, all of them have suddenly found an intense interest in the workmanship of the floor. I would get no support from them.
My good friend Richard was playing Guildenstern, and I knew I could count on him. So, I looked to him. As soon as my eyes met his, he burst out laughing.
No support there.
Quickly looking down, I saw that the actor playing Hamlet was to be no help: he was currently engaged in banging his head on the floor.
My fellow actors were going to be no help, so I decided that I need to do something to stop the laugh (which was now starting to come out, no matter how I fought). There was a spotlight directly in front of me, so I stared into it, hoping that the bright light would make my eyes water enough to make the laughter stop.
That didn’t work.
I was running out of things I could do. I was loosing the battle against the laugh, all the while trying to fight my way through the speech.. There was one last person I could look to. Jenngo was my good reliable friend. I could count on her, and I knew that she would not let me down. So, I looked up at the booth.
And all I saw was a pair of keds in the air, as Jenn had fallen off her seat because she was laughing so hard.
I was doomed. I rushed through the rest of the speech, finished the scene and got off stage as fast as I could. Somehow, I managed to finish the show.
The rest of the week was shaky though. Each show, during the first scene between Hamlet and the Ghost, I would tentatively meet Hamlet’s eye, and if I felt a laugh coming, I would look away. I spent the rest of the week on stage looking only at the big medallion that Hamlet was wearing. I just couldn’t meet his gaze.
Eventually, the next week, I had finally got myself under control, and was able to meet the actor’s gaze. With relief, I launched into the show with relish. Finally, I could put this whole thing behind me.
There came a point in the show, where the actor playing Hamlet and I passed by each other. I was about to go on, and he was coming off stage. He stopped beside me on the Friday night:
“Phil, you’re not going to believe this.” He said.
“What?”
“Right there in the front row. You won’t believe who it is.” He said.
I was thinking an agent, maybe a casting director. From the way he was talking, I was sure that someone important was there. “Who?”
With an wicked smirk, he said “Two short greeks! Oh shit, you’re on!” and he pushed me towards the stage.
