The morning after the night before

Day 45: Sunday, April 2

I had nothing to do.

A friend had recommended that I see A Doll’s House, Part 2, so I’d bought a ticket for that, but beyond that, I had nothing.

I woke up fairly late, giving myself enough time to walk up to 45^th Street, but was pretty leisurely otherwise.

To tell the truth, I was a little dubious going into the show. I don’t like the Ibsen original at all (Chekhov once wrote, sarcastically, “Ibsen is, of course, my favorite playwright”) and it all sounded a little, well, pretentious. Even as I thought that, though, I remembered that two of my greatest recent theatrical experiences, Come From Away and Natasha and Pierre, were also things I was dubious about, so as I mentioned weeks ago, I’ve come to distrust my instincts on things like this.

My suspicions were increased when I walked into the theatre, and suspended above the stage was the title of the play, rendered in huge illuminated yellow plastic letters.

I only wish the camera showed how bright those letters are.

As I said on Facebook, "I wonder if this will be post-modern."

Once it started, though, it was marvelous; simultaneously true to the original (it takes place 15 years later) and utterly contemporary in terms of language, performance, and direction. Because it’s got four great roles (three women, one man), it’s going to get done a lot, but I don’t know if any production will measure up to this one. There are so many things in it that are specific to those actors (Laurie Metcalf, Jayne Houdyshell, Chris Cooper, and Condola Rashad) and that director (Sam Gold) that I don’t know how you replicate or better it. It was only 90 minutes, but I could have watched it for at least another hour.

I had expected it to go at least two-and-a-1/2 hours, so I was kind of taken aback when I was out by 3:30. I stopped by the Drama Book Store for a last time, bought some stuff, then walked home to read the paper and get ready for the cast party at Gino’s. I also took advantage of a lovely evening to sit on the deck of our apartment house. We’d been there more than six weeks and I’d never taken the opportunity. Either it was too cold or I was too busy or the timing just wasn’t right. (I have to admit I was out there once early. It was a very, very cold morning, and I went out to “put myself on tape” for a callback for SF Shakespeare. [And, no, I won’t be posting that little epic.] I got the job, but it was cold and not really weather to be sitting out on the deck.)

 Tough life

That party had been a point of contention for weeks. We were originally supposed to do it a couple of weeks ago, but I had a ticket for The New Yorkers. Then I wanted no part of the original menu (eggplant or a pork roast; I hate the former and have stopped eating the latter), so Gino complained about that. Then it was off altogether, then it was on for the afternoon of the 2^nd, then it was on for 7:00, but Brendan and Christina had tickets for a 5:00 show, so it was pushed back to 8:00.

The trip was supposed to take an hour on the subway, so I left here a little before 7:00 with a Trader Joe’s bag full of gift basket snacks, two bottles of champagne, and one bottle each of Calvados and Irish whiskey, caught the L to Eighth Avenue, where I discovered that the A was running way slow (an “incident” downtown). I waited about twenty minutes before a train finally came. I got on and made my way up to Gino’s, which is seemingly in a suburb of Buffalo. I walked through a not-great neighborhood (it was a real taste of the old New York; gentrification hasn’t made it up there yet) and got to his apartment.

Even though the night was pleasantly chilly, the apartment was about 120 degrees, so it was a bit stifling, but the company was more than pleasant and the food (focaccia, meatballs and sausage, salad, and chicken parm) was excellent, so we drank—a lot; all of us—and had a great time saying goodbye, telling a lot—a lot—of stories. We finally left about 12:30, and since neither Beth nor I really wanted to spend another hour on the subway, she called a Lyft. 

The guy was there relatively quickly—within five minutes—but as soon as we got in the car, Sprint’s wifi network went tits up and neither of them could access the app—or anything else. The last time we saw the app, his car was a block away, on his way to get us. Fortunately, I was on AT&T (that’s the first time I’ve said that) and was able to navigate us. The driver was very nice, and as Beth chatted with him (I’ve never used a ride service before, so I was unaware of the protocol), we found out his history (short version, immigrant from West Africa, looking for the American Dream. I sincerely wish him all good luck—especially given the current administration). (Beth found out that the app finally showed him picking us up as of 8:00 am Monday morning, so he was going to get paid).

Thanks to my expert guidance, I got us home quickly, and we both went right to bed. I ended up staying up longer than I should have (we expected a cleaning lady in the morning, but had no idea when to expect her, so I didn’t want to sleep in), but eventually fell asleep in anticipation of my last full day in New York.

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.