I face the final curtain

Day 44: Saturday, April 1

It was a beautiful day, but even if it had not been, I still would have walked to the theatre, since it was going to be my last chance.

The walk was uneventful, and I was simultaneously happy to be out and walking and on my way to do a show and gloomy that it was so close to being over. I got to the theatre and settled in, doing the usual pre-show routine of looking over my lines and checking punctuation. (Just about my only theatrical superstition is that I have to have my script with me in the dressing room. I can’t leave it at home or in the car; it has to be with me.)

I got a message that a friend was coming back to see the matinee, so, in spite of my preference for not knowing who’s out there, I was actually kind of glad that this time I did.

The show was pretty good. The audience wasn’t full (guess that Times bump wasn’t enough), but they seemed to appreciate it. I was a little off (nothing noticeable), mainly because I felt like I was coming down with a cold (ticklish throat, worn-out feeling), but Ol’ Doc Theatre worked his usual magic and I got through it with no ill effects.

After the show, we got a unique opportunity, though. Brendan’s girlfriend, Christina, is a dresser at Hamilton, and had invited Beth to get a backstage tour. Because she could take a plus one, I got to go. We took the subway to the Richard Rodgers Theatre (which probably took longer than just walking there) and walked up to the stage door. Their matinee had just let out (the audience was still coming out of the doors), and a throng was waiting to get autographs, but we made the most of our privilege to go inside. Christina greeted us and showed us around. 

We were far from alone; there must have been fifty people onstage taking photos and greeting cast members, so we avoided that for a little while. Christina showed us around, and the two most vivid impressions were (once again) how close even the last row of the balcony seems and how small the offstage space is, so that every square inch needs to be accounted for. Stage right has a little more room—maybe fifteen feet from proscenium to the wall of the theatre, but stage left is tiny; maybe ten feet—and probably less. We went back on stage and he crowd had thinned, but we were still able to meet Brandon Victor Dixon (who’s playing Burr). I congratulated him for his work in Shuffle Along, which seemed to touch him, since that show, which was so good, had been cut suddenly short. As we were leaving, Javier Munoz (who is playing Hamilton now, but who was out with an injury when Beth saw the show) came down the stairs on his way out the door. Beth froze and got the most astounding deer-in-the-headlights look one could imagine. She was floored and wanted to say something, but as so often happens, she froze. (I’ve done it myself more than once.) He apologized for getting past us, but weren’t put out at all—especially her. We left, walking on air, then went back to the theatre. Since it was still a nice day, I walked back, stopping for a hot, fresh, soft pretzel (it met none of those criteria).

The 360-degree view from center stage

Crowded stage at the start of things

 The autograph wall. Virtually every celebrity who sees the show signs it.

Mike Pence is not among them.

 After the crowds left

As I got to the theatre, I wanted to take a photo of the large poster in front (something I would not have been able to do last week, as there was scaffolding in front), and was unsatisfied with the result, but it was about the best I could do.

Vanity. All is vanity.

As I went in, it really started to hit me that this was it. We were heading into the last stages of the production, and it had all gone by like lightning. I went upstairs, and even though we’d already done a show, I went through my script like a good actor. Brendan and I ran some stuff and chatted, then went out for the final show, which turned out to be a very good one.

While there are still moments I never quite nailed to my satisfaction, I got a bunch of them in this one. We were focused and relaxed and had a great deal of fun. When we got to the end of Scene 5, as I said goodbye to Andre, I nearly lost it on one of my last lines (“I have enjoyed your company”), but despite the lump in my throat, I got through it without breaking down. The last scene went very well, and even though the audience had been good all night, it was one of those crowds that wasn’t quite sure if it was over and didn’t start applauding until the lights came up for the curtain call. We bowed together, I bowed, he bowed, then we were supposed to do our usual second joint bow, but Brendan forgot it and started to walk off, leaving me with getting a final solo bow, which didn’t feel right. (I add in passing that Oslo, as good as it was, had the sloppiest curtain call I’ve ever seen. The show was in the Vivian Beaumont, which, as a thrust house, has audience on three sides. The usual protocol is that the cast bows to the front, then one side, then the other, and maybe back to the front. Someone is almost always designated as the person whom everyone else takes the bow off of; it’s someone everyone can see. In this case, everyone was bowing at different times—albeit in the same direction—and, at the end, one actor was even walking off stage as everyone else was bowing.)

I had someone in the audience, a woman I’ve directed twice and who, now after grad school, is a struggling actor in New York. It was great to see her—and I was able to give her the gift baskets I’d gotten. (They were too big to bring home and too nice to just throw away, so I’m glad they got a good home.) After that, we stayed in the theatre bar and drank, mostly one of the bottles of champagne I’d gotten, but also some whiskey. Brendan had left, so it was Beth, Leah, some of the theatre staff, and me. We spent a lovely hour talking and debriefing, as well as thanking the staffers, who couldn’t have been nicer through the whole process.

Eventually, the whole thing deteriorated into the “kids” singing ‘90s songs (mostly boy-band stuff, complete with dance moves), which was my cue to leave. I had packed all my stuff into one of the gift basket boxes (all the leftover snacks, bottles of alcohol, and my costume—which I decided to keep) and lugged it down to Park Avenue, where I caught a cab—I was damned if I was going to try the subway with that thing—and came home. I stayed up a while, scrounging for something to eat (we’re trying to get the fridge as empty as it started when we got here) and was about to go out to get something when Pidge called. As I spoke to her, I realized that I really didn’t need anything to eat, so when we were done, I went up to bed in my new status as a former off-Broadway actor.