University of Virginia Library

THOSE THAT PLAYED

By STEVE

Volponizing The Nation's Capital

To the north was Watergate,
standing both next to and millions of miles away from the white, rectangular
structure which, for the past year and a half, has at least symbolically served as
the nation's cultural capital.

To the west was the Potomac, providing the geographic boundary between
the state the Players were representing and the district they had won the right
to perform their production of Volpone in – one of ten colleges out of over
300 entries to make it through regional competition and the final selection
process all the way to the American College Theatre Festival in Washington.

And to the east on this last day of April, was the sun, just rising over the
top of new apartment complexes, government office buildings, and historic
landmarks.

For the Volpone technical crew, this early morning vigil outside the huge
metal doors at the rear of the Eisenhower Theatre marked the beginning of
what had to be the biggest theatrical day of their lives; for the union
stagehands waiting inside it was merely the start of another 16-hour day in
which a production would come to life physically, play two performances, and
then slink back into the obscure reaches of either academia or oblivion.

It was eight a.m. when ACTF general stage manager Chris Arnold opened
the doors and caused two worlds to collide. The contrasts were sharp. There
was Volpone's slim, mild mannered assistant director Ken Lambert standing
beside the prototype of Yank, Eugene O'Neill's muscle-bound Hary Ape.
There was the production's property mistress Claudia Lacy looking somewhat
untheatrical next to the weathered, cigar smoking old hand who gave the
impression of having spent his entire life backstage, and whose name you just
knew had to be "Pop."

The dichotomy was less noticeable once Volpone's technical director Tom
Bunch and its lighting designer Lee Hausman started taking command, working
smoothly with the top union men in the creation of the temporary yet magical
world in which plays appear. Each knew precisely what had to be done, how it
was to be done, and the time by which it had to be done. Roaming the vast
backstage and stage area, barking orders, making sure all the equipment and
props were off the Avis truck and in their proper places, securing flats,
checking beams, measuring distances, they performed their duties with
perpetual alacrity.

Surveying the scene, director George Black started to point something out.
He caught himself, remembering that this was still an educational experience
and that it was the students' day as much as his, and said apologetically, "It's
hard for me to keep from interfering."

Meanwhile, as the set begins to take shape, it was "Bring up 35...bring up
36...okay, kill what you have and give me three and five...hey, the bulb in
number five is out...all right, add nine and eleven."

Listening to his lighting designer call out cues to be implemented on the
sophisticated equipment, Black observed that "Hausman doesn't have to die to
be in heaven," and you know he was right, that all the work that the seven
students were putting in up on stage wasn't really work at all, simply because
the stage happened to be in the Kennedy Center.

***

Enter the thespians, or those that play your clowns, as Hamlet would have
it. Their ages ranged from 17 to 29. For most, it was the first time ever on a
professional stage; for some it would be the only time.

According to their director, the production was "solid." The day before,
they had run through several scenes in the Eisenhower Theatre rehearsal hall,
and whatever "bugs" remained could only be attributed to nervousness.

But what nervousness there inevitably was remained surprisingly invisible
for the most part. They arrived at 11 a.m., limbered up on stage, ran through
the musical prologue which typified director Black's iconoclastic approach to
Ben Jonson's classic, departed for lunch, returned at one, relaxed in the
dressing rooms, and limbered up some more.

It was only then, in the last ten minutes before curtain that the atmosphere
became tense. There was jogging in place, sit-ups, vocal exercises, and finally
handshakes and kisses.

And on the other side of the wall there was a small, heavily female audience
which would receive the production quietly, appreciatively, and attentively.
The laughs weren't terribly loud, but as one actor pointed out, "They're
listening to every word; younger audiences pounce on the gags."

Afterwards, relief, congratulations from friends and relatives. The
University had made it through its first big dramatic test, maybe not setting the
theatrical world on fire, but in admirable fashion nonetheless.

The evening performance was considered the big one, primarily because a
larger audience was expected. For some inexplicable reason the afternoon
performance seemed more like a final dress rehearsal. The fairytale magic
belonged to the night.

And the spirit built, through the day, toward an early evening peak. Again,
no rationale; just the way it was.

Right before curtain, director Black addressed his cast outside the dressing
rooms, one level below the stage. In a style reminiscent of a coach's pep talk,
he told his actors, "It's a good show. Keep it brisk. Remember to start the
prologue with a lot of energy, vocal energy. I could understand you today,
keep it up, because the house will be bigger.... Okay now, everybody, just one
more shot at it, so let's get it right!"

Ed Steele Awaiting His Cue In Eisenhower Theatre Green Room

Which they did.

The evening performance was a gem. The laughs came where they were supposed to – and
even in a few places where they weren't. The audience was alert, responsive, enthusiastic. The
show still wasn't a blockbuster, but it was for most people a success, and that, coupled with the
previous accolades it had garnered from audiences and critics in Charlottesville and Greensboro,
N.C., was enough.

The scene just off the stage was more emotional than the one after the matinee – more
handshakes, more kisses...total release combined with a sense of accomplishment...a feeling of
nostalgia, of termination. The case and crew were saying goodbye to the vehicle which had
brought them to the top, to the Kennedy Center, for one brief shining moment.

Ed Steele, David Cupp, Bill Castro, Mark Hattan, and Jim Jontz during the Sunday rehearsal at
the Eisenhower Theatre.