Nancy's buppies

Sunday, 27 December 2009

Our Gran hs made a tradition of sending Jessy and me to the theatre in Philadelphia at least once or twice a year, suspending it only when we were in England (and then making up for it with two shows each year since). This year we were presented with tickets for 'Oliver!' at Walnut Street for this Sunday. It meant that we would miss church, but we had had Mass at Christmas Eve and anyway it's not like we ever miss Mass so much at all. So at 7.30 on Sunday morning Jessy and I were in the back of the dark-green Cadillac cruising up Route One towards New Jersey. I sat in the back as usual and Jessy leaned over the fold-down armrest till she was asleep with her head on my arm. Roger (Daddy's driver) stopped at McDonald's for us to get hot cocoa and that was very comforting.

We collected Gran at our uncle's house in southern New Jersey and owing to some traffic we got into the city at only half an hour before show time. Roger stopped at the kerb and hurried round to let us out. Fortunately there was a bus of pensioners getting out directly ahead, so we were not the reason for holding up traffic in the street. The tickets Gran got were not bad, near the centre of the upper tier. Walnut Street, the oldest continually-operating theatre company in America, is not a large place and you have to pretty much endure whatever's available. The acoustics, however, were excellent, which is a good thing since this presentation actually used REAL children in the children's parts-- they don't always do that, you know.

The show was really good, except for one or two things I didn't like at all. One was that the actor playing Fagin seemed uncomfortable acting in a 19th-century London accent. He sang well, but his first few lines seemed stiff. Then at the end he gave the plea for donations for the theatre and quite adeptly slid out of his accent, kind of as a joke, to speak as himself, and we all laughed. By that point his accent had improved.

The other thing I did not care for was the woman playing Nancy, an actress called Janine Davita. First of all, she was too old. The actress is about 35 and the character of Nancy is 18. The problem is that the precedent is Shani Wallis, playing her in the movie, who was 35 at the time but looked easily no more than 21. The actress in the movie playing her sister, Bet, was 18 playing 16, a closer fit of course. Shani Wallis carries it off because she is naturally petite, well-shaped, youthful-looking and incredibly versatile physically. Most importantly the red dress that Nancy always has to wear in any production of 'Oliver!' stayed put on her, which is more than I can say for what Janine Davita was wearing.

Maybe it was just the angle we had from the edge of the mezzanine, but we could see directly down into the top of her dress. And, since it's supposed to be a real 19th-century dress, and Nancy is supposed to be a prostitute, she doesn't wear appropriate undergarments... so let me say that there was a bit more than modest cleavage showing! Oh, we could laugh and say it's only what the poor woman looks like, so don't hold her responsible for God's handiwork, you know. But some costumer did pick the dress, and they had to have been aware of what it would look like from a higher angle. Worst of all she kept picking up children and holding them close and swinging them round, you know, so that was something the theatre company had to come to terms with as well.

I have mentioned before that my pretty young stepmother is originally from Queensland. And we all know that Australia was settled by Irish emigres, mostly from London, so the accents are similar. What I have not mentioned before is that, when she and Daddy were first married-- actually right after Lisa was born-- Mother had the chance to act in a local/regional production of 'Oliver!' -- something Daddy encouraged her wholeheartedly to do. And, being a talented singer, young, petite, Australian, blonde, and buxom as she is, what part do they give her? --Nancy the teenaged prostitute in the red dress. I am sure that never was anyone cast in that role who was so unlike the character in real life! But Mother, of course, completely rocked the role. I mean, she was stunningly good at it-- all the singing, dancing (something she never likes doing), acting, speaking, emoting, all of it. Of course she is exceptionally intelligent (having a true genius IQ) which is always a good thing. She is infectiously cute, being little more than 5 ft 1 in tall, but has a strong soprano voice and when she sang 'As Long As He Needs Me' she did not refrain from a single note of how it's usually sung. Daddy said he wept to see it (that is his favourite song in the show). And, of course, she fit into the dress.

I think that since Shani Wallis (who was really not as buxom as she looked in the costume, being somewhat bumped-up to have a certain effect) the actress playing Nancy has to be a little obvious in the bustline. This is after all the archetype of the 'hooker with a heart' role that comes up in westerns and other stories over the years since Dickens wrote 'Oliver Twist'. So there is a certain maternal instinct that has to be apparent in the character of Nancy (that sadly will go unfulfilled, as she dies without children herself) and that is best shown on stage by making her look like a young mother, or a young woman who is ripe and ready to be one. She becomes the first mother to Oliver that he has ever own, and by the end of the story he loves her as his own mother since he will never have another mother himself. Indeed Nancy gives her life to save Oliver's, something only a mother, not a mere prostitute, would do. So in a way, theatre companies over the years, since 1963 anyway, have traditionally cast Nancy with a rather buxom young-looking woman in a snug-fitting bright-red bodice (and purple stockings, which also is symbolic).

So you will forgive me if I compare Janine Davita's performance to that of Shani Wallis and also that of my stepmother, both of whom I think were more appropriately cast and better attired than she was. Oh, do not mistake me-- Mother (my stepmother) wore the bright-red dress (and purple stockings) with all the suggestive sexiness she was supposed to have, and the dress was low-cut and it fit just right and with the Cockney accent coming out of her own East Anglia-tinged Australian she appeared to do Shani Wallis (who was Irish-English) better than anyone could have imagined. We have the videotape (now lovingly archived to CD) to prove it. (And may I say that when she screams at the end, as Bill Sykes is beating her to death, it brought up tears of horror and sympathy in everyone present, all eight shows, every time. Mother screams rarely-- almost never-- but really well!)

Jessy was the one who said it to me in the car ride home, after we had taken supper with Gran in the city and dropt her off at her place. 'I think you could play Nancy,' she said.

'Me? No way.'

'Yes, you little liar, you know you would. You can do the accent-- really well actually. And you've got the look for it.'

I shrugged. 'And I'm the right age.'

'You're exactly the right age. And you've got the singing voice for it.'

'Oh, I do not.'

'Yes, you little liar, you do.'

'And whom would you be? Bet?'

Jessy shrugged. 'I would like to play Bet,' I said.

'You saw in that show how they gave her more singing and dancing parts,' I said.

'Yes.'

'And you are the right age... and you have the right look.'

'And you have the look for Nancy.'

I looked down at myself. We always dress up for the theatre, at least better than most people do. I wore the black sweater I got for Christmas and a little olive skirt and black leggings (not tights) and my high black boots. It's a good look for me. But I hadn't thought anyone would care too much to look at my figure like this. But, then again, Jessy knows me. 'I'd rather not be cast in something just because of my look,' I said.

'Yes,' Jessy said, 'though that's how they often cast people. And a singing audition. The rest is just... je ne sais quoi.'

I slumped down in the seat and thought. It is true I have sung 'As Long As He Needs Me' as a solo, most notably at the talent show at HOH, after several of us had gone to see a regional production of 'Oliver!' in Norwich. It is true that I do love that show, and know it all by heart. It is true that I can do a really good British accent, several different ones in fact, and, though the Cockney is probably my least skillful, I can certainly learn it. And I am the right age-- the same age as the character-- and I am not so terrible at acting that a company would shrink from casting me due to inexperience.

And, as it would appear, I have the figure for the snug-fitting red bodice, at least more appropriately than Janine Davita does... so maybe there's something in that after all.

...

Memorial Day weekend

Saturday & Sunday

With Dottie, Jessy and I opened on Saturday for waffles and pancakes, closed at 11.00, and got out of there by about 11.30. It was warm and sunny and Jessy and I returned to the house for our swimsuits and took blankets down to the beach. There we basked pretty much all day. We met a few nice girls from some other part of New Jersey who lay near us. Also some guys came by whilst we were standing ankle-deep in the water, and we talked to them for a bit. They were insistent that we join them at some kind of party tonight but we had to work and so were able to get out of it. Daddy and Mother and the little ones got down this afternoon and the first we knew they were here was when Mother, in a beautiful blue-and-white bikini, came down and tapped my shoulder where we stood at the water. 'Surprise!' she giggled.

And she might have pushed us in, but the water was too cold. We all hugged and Jessy and I started to tell her about the last two days but there was too much to talk about. She and Daddy had taken Lisa and JJ over to see the Ladybugs game-- I told her then that during dinner at the prom I had got a message on the phone that they had won-- and so she was happy to hear (from Jessy of course) about the 'developments'. Apparently someone had rung the house for Jessy too but she had not got name or message. This is all exciting news for Mother, naturally.

We closed the parlour at 11.00 and walked back along the beach in our Colonial clothes, carrying our shoes and stockings. Jessy wanted to dip her feet. I didn't. For some reason I have been feeling very humble and modest-- and not because of the parlour or the clothes, which actually make me feel a little too provocative. Things have happened and I am not quite comfortable with what's been going on. I feel like I shouldn't be this person, that I may be getting away from myself, and that I just want to go back to the way it once was, when Jessy and I were just nice little girls without people paying so much attention to us. I don't know if that's appropriate but it's just a thought I have been having.

Back at the house we got out of our Colonial clothes and turned in. To be truly authentic you don't wear panties under this gear-- elastic-waisted panties really don't show up before 1920. Neither Jessy nor I do, even working in the parlour (unless it's necessary, you know). So we have been sleeping naked in our beds, in the same room, which is NOT that weird since we are sisters (and please don't go anywhere else with that). In the middle of the night I found myself awake, facing a 7.00 shift without going to church in the morning, and I went down stairs for a cup of tea to settle myself. I put on no lights, only the stove and the kettle and the little light under the cabinets, but apparently I was obvious because next I knew Daddy was ducking his head in. 'Are you all right?'

I turned round, standing at the stove, and blushed a little-- not because I was naked but because I was up in the middle of the night. 'I couldn't sleep,' I told him.

He nodded. The kettle was about to whistle and I turned it off and poured into my cup. 'All right,' he whispered. 'You're on in the morning, right?'

I nodded, watching as I swirlled the tea bag round in the cup. 'I'll be fine.'

'Okay. Good night.'

'Good night, Daddy.'

He left. I took my tea out to the front parlour, which faces the ocean, and sat there in the dark sipping my tea. It was hot and we had left a few windows open for the breeze. When I finished the cup I folded some pillows under my shoulder and sighed, staring into space for a while....

'Hey,' she said, 'get up. I can't believe you're down here. What happened to you?'

It was daylight and she was poking my arm, and I was still on the couch, curled up naked with the pillows. 'Oh,' I said. And I got up and got dressed for the morning shift.

...

Soothing the savage beast

Monday, 6th April 2009

Normally-placid Jessy was in an emotional upheaval tonight after enduring a slightly unflattering audition for a local summer production of 'Beauty and the Beast'. I did not go with her-- I was attending practice for 'Music Man' and so Mother drove her. For some reason (and probably rightly) they did not have Roger drive them but Mother drove her in the small van. Talk about carrying a low profile! --but the last thing Jessy would have wanted was for Daddy's daughter to arrive in a stretched Cadillac and come prancing in like a superstar in her own mind to show up all the other girls. Not a way to get yourself a fair audition! --and NO, this is only local or regional theatre and there's no way they would have responded positively to an entrance like that. It'd have been thespian suicide.

I do worry that Jessy will think differently now and will be secretly wishing she had had Daddy's notoriety to rely on. I know she likes to pamper herself, even psychologically, even though that's kind of like saying she has an ego. I don't think it's a matter of ego at all. And I don't want her to be in this blaming mode, because all she will blame is herself. There really wasn't much she could have done that she did not do. For one thing there was a little more ballet than she expected and a LOT more jazz dancing. Who knew that ahead of time? --not Jessy. Also, her usually sweet, crystalline voice was a little too hoarse from practice for 'The Music Man' earlier tonight and even giving 100 percent of what she had left for the night she could not have been at her best. Still, as Daddy says, 'silver shines through'. The directing staff are not idiots. If a girl is a good singer and just not singing at her best this very minute, they can tell that. If a girl is cutting out early from rehearsing another show just to make this audition and appears a little stiff or tired, they will give her some credit. Was she at 100 percent? --no. Could she be? --absolutely.

Jessy is no egoist and is guilty only of disappointing her own very high standards. I suppose Daddy feels guilty too, for instilling in both of us such a passion for performing well that we take it too personally sometimes. But it is what it is when you are in a performing-arts family. Mother had the best thing to say about it. 'They're churchgoing Christians,' she said of the director and his staff. 'They're not going to condemn you. It's a chance for you to grow.' (And it is parent-supported teens' theatre. They took Mother's cheque.)

Daddy used to say he preferred to be the worst player in the band, not the best one. If you're the best, there's only one direction you can go. But if there's something to be learnt, and you can learn it, that's a growth opportunity. If you think about it there's really only one of those things to be preferred, and it's the one Jessy has right now.

Jessy's in the shower now, she will go to bed straight away, and we will be at school tomorrow where she will meet some of her friends (at least one of whom is cast in 'B and B' already), and by the time she gets home she will feel better about the whole thing. So I am glad she won't read this blog till at least then. And who knows? --she'll probably get a callback anyway.

Of course if she does not-- well, we have an acting job of our own lined up for this summer, working in our Colonial costumes at our late mother's beloved ice-cream parlour on the New Jersey shore. And no one can cut us from that.

...