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[Chapter 21, continued...]
Earlier, the old ballroom, the Greenleaf Mansion's rehearsal space for the brand new Allegro Conservatory, had been full of fairly gloomy singers, scowling at those mind-boggling, gender-switching prospects (for instance, Ferrando who becomes Ferranda) while a gum-flapping director blathered on impervious to the fact each of them in turn contemplated dropping out of the program. Even the pianist wondered why he was there, as his mind wandered back to the last time he'd tossed a spitball at a teacher, then remembered it had been Remedial Theory only Monday morning.
Time and Mostovsky droned on, both rooted to the spot, only Mostovsky's hands occasionally fluttered about in an attempt at emphasis; a makeshift clock leaned against a window sill, its hands immobile and implacable. Henry Roberts thought if she (the director) would just move around a bit, it could make things a little more tolerable.
“In the long run, we'll use an interactive modular approach to the overall look of the production on stage,” Mostovsky continued, “something Scricci's brilliant mind imagined as a 'Chinese Menu Approach' in which we interface specific details of what various characters' aspects we might envision in 'Column A' best address the available singers, 'Column B.'”
However much they had each gotten used to Lauren Mostovsky as a person, regardless of the unexpected challenge of non-gender-specific pronouns, they've got serious doubts about the sanity of Lauren Mostovsky as a director.
“We'd come up with a suitable collection of variables as to what our characters could look like which can be narrowed down to match those who would end up chosen during the audition process, rather than casting a particular body-type to match an abstract character description, an image perhaps too specific for the potential cast. This means we wouldn't have to reject an excellent singer for a role because they couldn't, say, fit into the Little Black Dress the designer had in mind for the character in Act Two.
“For instance, about our pairs of lovers – Fiordiligi and Guglielmo, or Dorabella and Ferrando – let's take a look at the men. Which one's the more masculine one who might be a biker or lumberjack? Going by stereotypes assumes the baritone is the 'more masculine' of the two, a tenor being higher, less 'manly' in sound.”
Villains were stereotypically baritones (according to 19th Century operas), romantic leads were tenors. We've all seen the caricatures of short, pudgy tenors and big strapping baritones, but Ferrando and Guglielmo weren't hero and villain. Tenor Henry Roberts was short and chunky, and baritone Frank Goodman was substantially taller and definitely more athletic, fitting the stereotypes.
“What would happen if we go against type? What about accentuating the differences, if they're already the opposite of each other?”
Henry squirmed in his chair. The others tried not to look at him.
He kept thinking this wasn't a reflection on himself, but people who'd see the performance would see him singing a male role dressed as a woman. How could it not be anything but humiliating? And the others remembered all this talk of Gender Swapping from earlier, too. Ready or not, they knew what was coming.
There was the slimmest glimmer of hope maybe he, never personally meeting the expectations of a swashbuckling hero or leading man, would be characterized as the “more masculine one,” probably not the Soldier-of-Fortune he'd imagined initially, members of a SEAL team dressed in camo with black cork-grease on the face ready for nighttime jungle combat. He could “do” athletic, maybe someone who'd been on the high school wrestling team gone to seed before he'd turn 30, compared to Frank who really had been a star quarterback in high school.
Mostovsky's attention turned to the soprano, Fiordiligi, to be sung by Orchis China Aster, a fashion-conscious, demure, petite young Asian woman (one assumed from the name, Chinese) carefully dressed but not self-conscious or showy. The director's glance took in the singer from Column 'B' and compared them to the character's potential attributes in Column 'A.' But in an opera full of disguises, Fiordiligi's the one who dons a military uniform (something she just happened to have), convinced she must join her belovèd on the battlefield rather than become unfaithful.
There was a confidence about Mx. Aster (or was the last name “China-Aster”? – no, checking the printed roster, there's no hyphen), something sensed in her bearing or the intensity and set of her eyes, that made Mostovsky imagine, if it were up to her, not Fiordiligi, Orchis would hardly mourn a romantic break-up for long.
Given that, then, the singer was already the opposite of her character, unlikely to share in the romantic silliness of a broken heart or grief that would be taken to such an extreme level. “Attraction at First Sight” was certainly an option but would she be as susceptible to the arrows of an interfering Cupid? If anything, if time were not so condensed in reality as it was by the needs of the plot's whirlwind pressures, chances are Orchis would probably find companionship with the next available compatible man.
Conversely, Felicia Kroll's generic Europeanness hid any Germanic ancestry (or was it merely her father's name and she's only 12.5% Teutonic?) – of course, krol was also a Slavic word for “King,” if it mattered – her round face and overall flat impression, face as well as physique, augmented her obvious lanky and sometimes awkward tomboy qualities. Like many mezzos, she was doomed for a lifetime of Cherubinos and Octavians, speaking of gender-bending “pants roles,” though if you're going to get typecast, those are not bad roles to be stuck with.
If one possible version of Fiordiligi as sung by Mx. Aster would turn her into a pastel, chiffon-loving, high-heeled Barbie Doll, did Mx. Kroll's bobbed hairstyle and jeans mark her as a potential lesbian? How'd she look with spiked hair, numerous piercings, and a studded dog collar?
Now, Mostovsky considered, “what if we... switched them?”
Was Mostovsky perhaps a little too blunt, rolling out these observations, judging from the singers' increasingly negative reactions – did Mark Winsome philosophically cough out the word “psychobabble”? Their successive expressions verged on the appalled. The reasoning behind the characters' dramatic personas, how they should think of themselves, became, if one dared use the word, “clear.”
Given Skripasha Scricci's so-called “Albanian Axis,” Dorabella, no longer Felicia the tomboy, absorbed Orchis' feminine beauty and Guglielmo, no longer Frank's macho man, became Henry's less masculine, would-be playboy.
“Then we switch the genders!”
In daPonte's story, the sisters' relationships were based on the idea “Opposites Attract” until their fiances return in those ridiculous disguises, dropping in unannounced as a pair of Albanian sailors, friends of Don Alfonso's. But each girl eventually gives in to the boys' advances and chooses the other boyfriend, the one who's her “Personality Equivalent.”
But now, what if Henry's Ferrando becomes Ferranda, a tomboy and a possible closet Lesbian, a bull dyke who wears “metal accessories” and a studded dog collar? Henry's eyes had practically doubled in size.
Frank, unable to control himself, burst out laughing in disbelief, then realized, “no, Mostovsky's really serious!” and sat back embarrassed. “Shit...”
Frank, it turns out, will become Guglielma, transforming Orchis' femininity into a dark-haired Barbie Doll swathed in chiffon and feather boas.
Henry was quick to point out Frank wasn't laughing any more.
“No shit...”
Unperturbed, Mostovsky preempted any further interruptions, questions or appeals to sanity, and asked Joe to pass out the costume sketch hand-outs. The men, who are now singing women's roles, don disguises not to make fun of Albanians as in Mozart (how politically incorrect) but as gay men coming back from a night at the bars. Henry's Ferranda disguises herself as a lumberjack; Frank's Guglielma, as a tap-dancing dandy. This is what many mezzos call “Octavian's Nightmare,” the idea of a woman singing a man's role disguised as a woman.
“This of course adds a new level of discomfort to the original sisters' unwillingness to tolerate the Albanians' advances. Now men – and one presumes “straight” – they're faced with gay men coming on to them. Naturally, this offers a whole different subset of scandals once the boys decide to give in and say “okay, why not?”
While Felicia was the only one even remotely smiling during the ensuing, ominous silence, Mark and Rosa patiently waited their turn, sweat beading up on their collective brows as Mostovsky's attention turned to them. Mark was convinced Alphonso'd become Pennywise the clown from Stephen King's It, while visions of Aunt Jemima danced in Rosa's head.
“Despina will be the only character who doesn't change gender,” Mostovsky began, “but that's because she already disguises herself with two male roles: the doctor and the notary.”
Rosa gave out an audible sigh.
“Since you're both Black” – Mostovsky, obviously going for the Equal Opportunity Offender Award – “Despina is a young activist full of racial bitterness while Alfonso, now Doña Aldonza, attempts to assimilate and pass for White.”
Mark pulls a calypso move with his neck and outstretched arms. “That's Doña Aldonza from Brazil – where the nuts come from!”
Rosa took advantage of the explosion of laughter breaking the director's spell, and pointed out, since she's already a servant stereotype, “shouldn't I become a White stereotype while one of the sisters – or rather, brothers, in this case – becomes some kind of Black Stereotype, perhaps a rapper with dreadlocks and yet another level of scandal?”
Mark's deep bass boomed out with a seismic laugh, barely catching his breath. “Can you say 'N-Word in the wood pile'?”
Fortunately for Director Mostovsky, the bell rang and the afternoon's rehearsal was over.
* * ** *** ***** ******** ***** *** ** * *
As the rehearsal wore on (and “wear on,” it had), Toni'd noticed a change in Fielding, not just in his Salieri, but even during the breaks when he seemed a bit more deflated, irritable. Without Underhill to goad him, keeping his spleen in a state of near-boiling, did he realize it wasn't as much fun? She noticed, after the break, a change came over Bridges, too, especially before the evening rehearsal started, but one of relief, as if some good news had finally come his way – about Underhill, maybe.
For herself, Toni realized how much fun it was to read through Mozart's lines once she'd gotten used to the idea. Fortunately, they'd skipped over his first appearance, that naughty little scene with Constanze. But Bridges had asked her to keep on, if she could, just to help them out a little with the continuity.
Fielding saw through Bridges' not so subtle plan to show everyone in the cast how this teenaged girl, such a natural talent – how old was she: 15, 16? – was better, more natural than Underhill. Likely, there was some ulterior, habitual motive behind the scenes, as they say, whether Bridges was aware of it or not. Fielding hadn't forgotten how the great Laurence Bridges once “discovered this incredible talent” years ago, cast her in his latest play long before she was ready, and how they'd immediately become this scandál publique.
They “roughed” their way through to the scene about Figaro when Bridges decided, “it's been a good day, let's end here. Toni,” he added after everybody else started to leave, “we need to talk.” Fielding saw this, and with a knowing smile nodded toward the director who, if he'd noticed it, chose to ignore it.
With Ben's half-hearted help, Grover, busy checking his clipboard, put away different tables and chairs used to suggest various set pieces, then locked up the old-fashioned wheelchair, a true antique, in the scene shop.
Grahl talked with Ben about some of his lines, then patted him on the back as he wandered toward the exit.
“So, Pete,” Fielding said, one eyebrow mischievously cocked, “who's going to replace Heath? I assume the rumors I've heard are true?”
“Well, I'm not sure what Laurence plans to do right away, but yeah...”
Bridges was having a similar conversation with Toni back in the costume shop. Initially, she'd thought he had wanted to talk more about the music, how maybe he'd found some money for live musicians, but when she thanked him for the opportunity to read Mozart's lines, he started to pursue a different topic of conversation.
“As a composer,” he said, closing the door behind them, “I thought you brought a totally different perspective to the role, like you really identified yourself with this young, naïve and unfiltered young genius.”
His use of “naïve” and “unfiltered” surprised her but, “yeah, basically, I do. I mean, what young composer just starting out doesn't want to grow up to be the next Mozart or Beethoven, right?” She'd blushed again, afraid maybe he would ask her to coach Mr. Underhill when he eventually came back to the rehearsals.
She'd heard the rumors, too, but discounted them – how Underhill's leg'll be in a cast, how he'll be in a wheelchair. She'd also read newspaper reports on-line from years ago about the famous director Laurence Bridges, accused of sexual harassment by a number of young actresses to whom he'd promised stardom – and here she was. She took note of the immediate situation: she's alone with him back in some remote corner off-stage (would anybody hear her?); he'd just shut (locked?) the door; he's standing between her and the doorway.
Bridges began to explain how he'd just received word before the rehearsal began Underhill would have “this thumping huge cast on his leg” and be in a wheelchair for several weeks, more's the pity, unable to return to the show (so the rumors were true), if you could do the math (she nodded she could).
“So either we close the show, or I replace one of our two lead stars, the legendary if over-the-hill Heath Underhill. And I thought, listening to you read his lines,” Bridges continued, “you, Toni...”
“Me?” She'd backed up against an old couch. “You mean me – play Mozart?” Stardom, she thought, here it comes, getting closer: the offer, the Big Temptation, the evil snake in the Tree of Knowledge...
“Why not, Toni? You're a natural-born talent, the way you took to his lines, even more credible than old Heath was.”
“Well, maybe he was too old for the part and, yeah, he couldn't very well do it in a wheelchair” (how absurd would it be with him and then Old Salieri in his wheelchair?), “but how can I do it? I'm too young! Besides, I'm a girl – a 16-year-old girl, in case you don't remember...”
As he slowly inched toward her, Toni felt panic climb up her spine. She thought she could kick him where it hurts but wondered if she could control her muscles (“God, he looks old!”).
“That's part of the 'magic' of the theatre,” he crooned, “the audience would quickly accept it; it's unlikely they'd even care.”
“It sounds like a gimmick...”
He reached out a hand to touch her.
By the time she felt his hand brush against her breast, she gave her knee a stiff yank and pulled mightily.
It happened so fast: Bridges screamed just when she'd screamed (more like a karate yell) as she slammed her knee into Bridges' groin, just as the door flew open and she heard Vector scream.
“What the bloody hell got into you,” Bridges panted as he painfully picked himself up off the floor, dazed and incredulous.
Toni ran into Vector's arms, relieved. “I'd say my theatrical career's over, now...”
As he led her out into a gathering crowd, Vector looked back and said, “I believe yours is, too, Mr. Bridges.”
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©2022 by Dick Strawser for Thoughts on a Train
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