"Where's the poisoned sherry?"- The horrors of an unmarked prop table
Several years ago I was playing a minor role in a production of Martin Sherman's achingly powerful "Bent". After the usual thorough and carefully choreographed roughing up from some impeccably dressed Nazis I was laying face down waiting for one of the dapper wretches to lift my head, slit my throat and dispatch me back to the green room from whence I came. On one night however, no 'bloody blameful blade' arrived. My initial thought was perhaps the SS officer's agent was in so he was trying a little something 'off menu' for their benefit. But the hiatus continued until, just as I had decided to crawl for it (perhaps tonight was the night I'd get away), there was an earth shattering gunshot. As anyone would, I looked round from my prone position to see who had copped it only to find out that it was in fact me.
My colleague was looking at me from behind the barrel of a gun normally reserved for act II with a wild look in his eye that somehow contained panic, apology and pleading. Quick as a pig I dutifully flung myself the remaining inch to the floor and prayed for the blackout.
The post mortem (held in the bar) revealed that the rigged knife had been misplaced and in the ensuing backstage ruckus a quick choice was made between strangulation with a hand towel or death by blank firer. Either way it was too late to warn me. I think in the scheme of things I got off lightly: It may have been unexpected but at least I was seen off with a credible weapon.
Friends of mine have been less fortunate...
As the climax to a sexy, energetic and bloody montage that opened a production of Romeo and Juliet set in 20's mafia America, a couple walk into bar and take a seat, a beat later a table is overturned and from underneath it up pop three goons with tommy guns who open fire on the couple. The couple riddled with bullets, fall backwards toppling tables, chairs, glasses and all. It's a savage ending to a tightly choreographed, hectic opening that sets the tone for the next two hours. Backstage of course it's like a high speed dance- actors making quick changes and multiple entrances, all pushed along by a pulsating soundtrack (on which all gunshots are also prerecorded).
The show is a success, running smoothly and out on tour when a tiny inexplicable oversight causes chaos. It's not until the goons crawl into place do they realise that the tommy guns aren't set, but the couple are already entering the bar and there's only time for a quick whispered "What do you mean there's no guns?" as the soundtrack drives the action unstoppably forward, and then its all muscle memory and hope as they stand upending the table, and possibly in an attempt to show the couple they have no guns or possibly because elementary dance training never really leaves you, waggle their open palms at their chums. Their victims who presumably for want of something better to do, or possibly just in a bid to get off the stage, or perhaps because there is still the sound of guns firing go down as usual like they've been filled with bullets even though they've only really been subjected to an amateur musical theatre big finish.
Quite what the audience made of this avant garde if somewhat jazzy take on a mob hit is uncertain. Though no-one in the company was confident enough to offer the ubiquitous cure-all "I'm sure they didn't notice loves"
So I'm a fan of anything that will help make sure the gun/suicide note/briefcase of money is where it is supposed to be, and that most definitely includes the marked up prop table. Not only does it appeal to my anal everything-in-it's-place sensibilities but it is also deeply reassuring. It says to the actor "You are in safe hands" it says "On my watch things will be where you expect them to be" and most importantly it says "Tonight there will be no death by jazz hands".
My colleague was looking at me from behind the barrel of a gun normally reserved for act II with a wild look in his eye that somehow contained panic, apology and pleading. Quick as a pig I dutifully flung myself the remaining inch to the floor and prayed for the blackout.
The post mortem (held in the bar) revealed that the rigged knife had been misplaced and in the ensuing backstage ruckus a quick choice was made between strangulation with a hand towel or death by blank firer. Either way it was too late to warn me. I think in the scheme of things I got off lightly: It may have been unexpected but at least I was seen off with a credible weapon.
Friends of mine have been less fortunate...
As the climax to a sexy, energetic and bloody montage that opened a production of Romeo and Juliet set in 20's mafia America, a couple walk into bar and take a seat, a beat later a table is overturned and from underneath it up pop three goons with tommy guns who open fire on the couple. The couple riddled with bullets, fall backwards toppling tables, chairs, glasses and all. It's a savage ending to a tightly choreographed, hectic opening that sets the tone for the next two hours. Backstage of course it's like a high speed dance- actors making quick changes and multiple entrances, all pushed along by a pulsating soundtrack (on which all gunshots are also prerecorded).
The show is a success, running smoothly and out on tour when a tiny inexplicable oversight causes chaos. It's not until the goons crawl into place do they realise that the tommy guns aren't set, but the couple are already entering the bar and there's only time for a quick whispered "What do you mean there's no guns?" as the soundtrack drives the action unstoppably forward, and then its all muscle memory and hope as they stand upending the table, and possibly in an attempt to show the couple they have no guns or possibly because elementary dance training never really leaves you, waggle their open palms at their chums. Their victims who presumably for want of something better to do, or possibly just in a bid to get off the stage, or perhaps because there is still the sound of guns firing go down as usual like they've been filled with bullets even though they've only really been subjected to an amateur musical theatre big finish.
Quite what the audience made of this avant garde if somewhat jazzy take on a mob hit is uncertain. Though no-one in the company was confident enough to offer the ubiquitous cure-all "I'm sure they didn't notice loves"
So I'm a fan of anything that will help make sure the gun/suicide note/briefcase of money is where it is supposed to be, and that most definitely includes the marked up prop table. Not only does it appeal to my anal everything-in-it's-place sensibilities but it is also deeply reassuring. It says to the actor "You are in safe hands" it says "On my watch things will be where you expect them to be" and most importantly it says "Tonight there will be no death by jazz hands".
