“So, why do you lip-sync? I thought the whole point of Broadway was that it was live?” Kirk asked.
“There are a ton of reasons why. First, the weather is unpredictable. We could be out there in the rain, snow, or sun. Unless we shot from within a theater, there’s no way to prepare for all the contingencies related to weather.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Kirk said, stuffing a piece of cheesy bread into his mouth.
“Besides,” Johnny added, “if the weather is freezing, the cold can be terrible on someone’s vocal cords.”
“How so?” Carissra asked.
“It’s basic anatomy, my dear.” Johnny picked up two breadsticks. “These are like your vocal cords. They wobble when they’re all nice like this, and you can get the most out of your cheesy goodness. Your vocal cords prefer a hot, moist climate…like a rainforest. They function better when they are warm and lubricated,” he added extra emphasis to the wordsmoistandlubricated, which got a giggle out of Carissra and a side-eye glance from Kirk.
“Okay, but I don’t see what this has to do with singing,” Carissra said.
“Getting there, little one,” Johnny said with a roll of his eyes. “Now, imagine these cheesy breads were frozen. They won’t wobble anymore. When the weather is dry and cold, your larynx is tighter, and it’s harder to sing.”
“It’s not just harder,” I admitted. “It can lead to damage if you’re not careful. If we were standing still, like we were in a choir, we could be trained to take shorter, more shallow breaths while singing outside. But many of the songs performed at the parade need people to have great breath control and power while exerting themselves physically. Sure, you could belt out a song once, but you could strain your instrument and find yourself unable to sing the rest of the week.”
“And, even worse,” Johnny adds, “the television producers want a good show. The musical producers don’t want their stars out of work the next week because they’ve lost their voices.”
“That’s not to say that no one ever sings live on the broadcast, but it’s a logistical nightmare if they do,” I admitted. “So, there you go, several reasons singing live at Herald Square on 35thin the cold is just never a bright idea.”
We wrapped up our dinner shortly after that discussion, and I collapsed in bed with Bootsy snuggled at my side shortly thereafter. Sunday, I slept well past noon before getting up, doing laundry, and learning some new line changes I needed to have ready the next morning.
By the time Monday rolled around, I was feeling somewhat recovered. Still, my body was exhausted after rehearsing. When I got to the theater that morning, it was a hubbub of action. We started by walking through all the sets. Serafina Porcher and San Nicolás walked us through how every set piece would move. We had to learn where sightlines would be on the stage. We needed to know where our marks were to avoid running into set pieces that either flew in from above or in from one of the wings.
We then walked through the show. Basically, we talked through the songs and dialogue, so the design team and backstage crew could figure out where and how things needed to move. This wasn’t even a technical rehearsal, they were giving us additional time on the stage to get used to the set pieces. Some were fully finished. Some still needed to be touched up. But even if the pieces weren’t ready for an audience, it was nice to be on a stage.
After our walk-through, San Nicolás called for a break. When we came back, we ran through the production from the top. Someone had hauled in a rehearsal piano and placed it below the stage, where we could see Eugene while he played.
The run-through was a disaster, which everyone expected. Sets flew in at the wrong times. People forgot their marks on the stage. We had taped off a stage in our rehearsal space, so we had the rough dimensions to work with, but those radically changed when suddenly there was more to worry about than empty space. In one scene, there was a table in a location no one expected, so we all had to figure out how to maneuver around the blasted thing. Sure, it looked good on the set, but it was a bit of a headache for those who had to work around the dumb thing.
One great part of the day was working with the stagehands backstage. After only seeing the actors and creative team, it was like a whole new world opened with many new faces. Personally, I had my eyes set on this rugged-looking redhead. He had short-cut red hair and a full red beard. I could almost imagine him as young Kris Kringle flying around in a sleigh. Instead of lifting a heavy bag of toys with his huge biceps, he worked on a lot of the rigging. Even though computers were essential to the modern theater, nothing beat a large backstage team to keep a show moving. It’s live theater. Stuff happens. A computer is great, but stagehands still pull ropes and move set pieces.
I had a scene where I had to exit stage left, run backstage, head downstairs to an underground passage that ran the length of the stage, run back up the stairs on stage right and enter center stage right. I had approximately sixty seconds to get from one side to the other with a costume change in between. Lachtna MacGrory was assigned to help figure out the backstage logistics.
“And go,” he said in an Irish brogue accent that made me weak in the knees.
I walked offstage, started a mad dash around the back, then scampered down the stairs, ran across the entire width of the stage underneath, and climbed back up the stairs to stage right.
I was almost out of breath when I got there. “One minute and ten seconds. We’ll have to make it faster, Erika,” Lachtna said. “Let’s run it again. This time I’m going to be right behind ya.”
We reset, and I took off. When I was up on stage right, he noticed a few things that could cut the time. So, he made the changes, and we reran it. The mad dashing reminded me of running sprints in high school. I was also thankful for all that time I spent on the treadmill.
“Fifty seconds,” Lachtna said. “That should give you ten seconds for the wardrobe change.”
“Does the costume designer know about this?” I asked.
“Probably not. I’ll make sure the stage manager knows. They’ll either re-choreograph or figure out how to make it work.”
“Ten seconds isn’t that long,” I said.
“Maybe, but they pulled off a four second quick-change in a 2002 show in the West End. By that standard, we can do two quick-changes with a couple of seconds to spare.”
I looked at him dubiously. I was also curious why he had that tidbit of history in his head. Apparently, he noticed the odd look on my face because he explained. “I’m a tad bit older than a look. I didn’t work in the West End in the 2000s, but I’ve worked with many people who have.”
“How’d you end up in the US?” I asked.
“I originally came over as the lead carpenter on a highly technical show from London. Ended up in New York, so I stayed. To work here, I had to get a work visa and permission to join the union, so when that contract was over, I got permanent workers status and have worked on several shows. Basically, a theater journeyman at this point.”
