I have spent much of the past few weeks on stage at the Hanover Little Theatre. Actually, my participation in “The Fox on the Fairway” took much more time than that, but I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining.
I don’t know why because that’s what I will end up doing anyway.
The whole experience thrilled me. I once again got to work with an incredible group of people while putting on a very funny play and providing lots of people with affordable local entertainment.
But I have a bone to pick with some of those in the audience.
For the first time, I played a real jerk in this play. Sure, some of you probably think that’s not a stretch for me, but it was. Even I wouldn’t want to have a beer with this guy.
I know that because I had some good source material to work with. From my experience as a student at an all-male private high school and 1980s fraternity parties, I encountered a few people who would end up wearing loud, garish clothes and running a country club.
So I felt like I could peer into the soul of this character and make him funny. I had plenty of good lines to work with, so I really looked forward to getting front of an audience.
Then I got nothing. Well, I didn’t totally get nothing, but people enjoyed seeing the others in the play make fun of my character more than they enjoyed the funny lines I had to say.
Where’s the love, folks? I felt like turning to the crowd and saying, “You realize this stuff is funny, right? I know you don’t like this guy, but you can laugh at me, OK?”
I did not do that, of course, because I love the people who come to see our shows more than I love my ego. Really.
I guess I can check off “played universally disliked character” on the checklist of my short theatre career. I can also finally talk about having to hunt far and wide for the right costume pieces.
In my first three shows, I pretty much used my own wardrobe. I did by a used suit and managed to get a few shows out of it, but I never had a real challenge.
This time, I had to find a number of loud and ugly pieces, particularly sweaters. I spent a ton of time combing through thrift stores and clearance racks before I found the right combination. I know this because I got laughs simply for walking on stage in my first get-up.
I will donate some of the clothes right back to the places where I found them. But a funny thing happened each time I pulled on the bright yellow cardigan sweater and red khakis each night.
They grew on me. The sweater seemed less of a garish costume piece and more of a security blanket. The brightness bothered me less and less. I felt comfortable.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t get as many laughs as I expected. Maybe people reconsidered laughing at my clothes and thought, “That guy looks pretty sharp up there.” Maybe they were so mesmerized by my fashion sense that they forgot to laugh.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself.