Stumbling on the Stairway to Heaven

Not just once, but twice! At the bloody dramafest of all places! Blank. Complete shutdown. No idea what to say next and I suspect, if not for my fellow actor – life saver?? – I’d still be on stage in complete panic.

Johnny Grim, he of the balding pate, had asked if we’d consider reappraising “Stairway to Heaven” for dramafest08, “No worries," we’d all cried. This was my first taste of revisiting a play / script, once the season was done. We’d gabbled the script a couple of times in the last two weeks and every one seemed confident, but by Friday morning, I realised it wasn’t imprinted on my feeble brain and that large parts had vanished into the aether of day to day life.

By about six o’clock last night, (Friday 26th September), panic had set in (with me I hasten to add). There were two passages – short sentences, that I had to deliver, which consistently refused to come out. “But I know it,” I screamed to myself in the cold, dark car park behind the Old Mill, before rushing back to the Greenroom to get my glasses and read the script.

Too late, the affable Mr Treasure ordered us to drag in the set, next thing I know, I’m sitting in the church pew waiting for the curtain to draw back – the only real drawback being me! Two seconds later, we were there at one of the hot spots. Sure enough, blank. Jim whispered “I’m seeing a ghost.” So was I believe me! Saved by a not so careless whisper.

But I was still unsettled. Then it hit me, from my perspective, we should have done a full dress rehearsal – the others might not have needed it, but I did. However, I did begin to relax … sort of! But my mind was filling with uncertainty and I also weirdly, began to think about all the lines for the forthcoming production of “Gaslight.” That was fatal!

Suddenly Rough the detective was in my head, at the same time, Alfred the prematurely dead tax inspector was waiting for me to ask him what the wildest thing was he ever did in his life. I knew he was waiting and I knew the on-going silence was palpable, but it had gone. I think I went beyond panic, into some sort of “f#$@#, I’ve just got to find the line” mode.

Jim / Alfred threw me a lifebuoy, telling me about the wildest thing he’d ever done. But everybody in the audience of peers must have know I was dead in the water. There was still one more lesson. Gabe threw me the Cloak of Death to put on. I was back in full swagger.

It wouldn’t go on. We'd picked it up from Memory lane, but hadn't tried it on - the bow was still tied! Somehow, I managed to get one arm through a sleeve hole and sort of throw the left side of the cloak over my shoulder, all the while thinking, “ Struth, how will he get the hood up over my head?” More panic and I could see Gabe / Tim was gauging the same problem. He pulled it off … well, over!

Later at the bar, we were talking to people and the lovely John Flood said, ”What happened, you don’t usually go blank?” I told him how Rough had taken over (Sally Barendse would be pleased). It seemed that most in the audience had only picked the one dreadful stuff-up, thank God! But boy, oh boy, some lessons learnt! For this little black duck anyhow.

1. The script doesn’t stay in your head forever.

2. Your need to rehearse properly

3. Pride comes before a fall

Apologies to all those who suffered in silence last night. Mea culpa! And may I also express my thanks to the adjudicator Jeremy Rice, who was gentlemanly polite enough, not to roast me either in his post-performances summary, or afterwards at the bar. Mind you, Jeremy did, (perhaps unconsciously on his part,) remind me of the generational change and how we Baby Boomers are being slowed forced into the background, when, in his summary, he told the audience that on seeing the bikie Robbie Slagg on stage, he at first couldn’t work out why it was some old bloke with grey hair and a grey beard singing and worshipping Led Zepplin – then he’d done the maths in his head! It’s OUR music mate – dope was just $5.00 a bag in those days - yes, I'm with Malcolm, Julia and Bill ... "I too, once! ..." It was real rock and roll, which we still love! Why this very evening I have a group of Baby Boomer friends coming round and the home theatre system will be wound out with Robert Plant and the boys, hell, I might even polish the cruiser motorbike! But I digress. In mitigation, may I state I am still suffering!

All Good Things

Greg Ross

Salutations Stinger.

You’re being very generous in describing the bloopers as not serious, I guess that’s true and one things for sure, one certainly learns from them!

The point on ghosts is interesting – as also is the concept of Heaven and Hell – dare one mention Sartre or Camus? However there are only two references to ghosts in the play – the first when Robbie says “You look like you’ve seen as ghost” and the second, when Alfred says “ So these people, I mean ghosts … spirits whatever they are, …” all of which seems plausible, given the mad circumstances. And although I cannot profess to having any great experience with ghosts etc, I’m not sure they’re always miscreants – often tales tells us they are in fact victims.

In terms of where the Grim boy could have taken the script, eg: the innocence of animals, my feeling is that it is primarily a gentle little play of absurdity, with a little morality thrown in – entertainment, rather than a learning curve. Sure you could take the animal bit further, but then it would start to sound dangerously like a self-righteous, haranguing lecture from The Greens.

Then there’s Mr Slagg’s costume. I have to take responsibility there, although in mitigation, I do ride a cruiser motorbike and I once rode with a bikie (as opposed to biker – I’m a biker, Robbie’s a bikie) gang in Queensland (as an invited guest, having saved the life of their leader). The boots Robbie wears are more or less standard dress for drug fuelled parties etc, rather than going on runs, which also segues into your statement about Ned Kelly.

I agree with the sentiments of what you write about the Kelly legend, however the fact is that those sorts of T-shirts have become pretty much standard issue amongst sub-culture groups in Oz (and those who fantasize about being involved with such groups). Of far more concern to me, in terms of the Kelly story, is the desolate, wasted, down-at-heel feel at Glenrowan, where I visited in February this year.

The rights to sing / perform issue is always the “Elephant in the Room,” however my understanding is that one can quote / use passages, but not perform the work in it’s entirety – it’s perhaps a debate that others might like to add their knowledge.

And in further agreement, Tim is bloody good – as you’re probably aware, he did the set also. But so is Jim, which leads finally to John Grimshaw. I for one, really like the gentleness, whimsy, humour and absurdity of his writing and I’ve noticed the audiences really appreciate his stuff as well.

All Good Things

Greg Ross