Deja Vu All Over Again

The show was cast. The cast met for a first reading of the script. The reading went well and the cast mingled. The rehearsal schedule was formed around conflicts, and first rehearsal was slated for November 6th. On the date of the first rehearsal, the cast was informed we'd lost an actor. The girl cast to play Cecily had jumped ship for a role at another theatre. If those of you playing the home game think this sounds a bit familiar, you are right. In my last show, an actress was cast and arrived at first-read as Elvira, and then jumped ship for another role. It was, in fact, the same actress. So, once again, the first days of rehearsal will be spent in auditions to replace her.

This cast is well ahead of schedule, arriving off-book to rehearsal, so the disruption is only a minor hiccup. In fact, during last night's readings I came to the amusing realization that one scene in this show could easily be subtitled "The Importance of Being Izzard." (Never mind that Wilde came many, many years before.)

In "Dress to Kill," Eddie Izzard tells us that everyone lies:

When we're kids, we lie our heads off! "I didn't do it! I
didn't do it! I was dead at the time! I was on the moon...with Steve."

And your dad's going, "I haven't even accused you of anything yet!"

"Well then what is it? What is it? What? What?"

"Did you brush your teeth?"

"No! Yes! What's the correct answer? I was dead at the time!"

Then Eddie goes on to say that when we're more mature, we "do start telling the truth, in odd situations."

"I'm sorry, I've broken a glass. I've broken this...is that expensive? I broke it...I'll pay for that."

And you do that so that people in the room might go, "What a strong personality that person has. I like to have sex with people who have strong personalities."

And this reminds me rather of our lord Jesus....

No, I'm sorry. Not Jesus. The show. Earnest. That's it. Wilde used a similar device:

You... are my cousin Ernest, my wicked cousin Ernest.

Oh! I am not really wicked at all.... You mustn't think that I am wicked.

If you are not, then you have certainly been deceiving us all in a very inexcusable manner. I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time. That would be hypocrisy.

Oh! Of course I have been rather reckless.

I am glad to hear it.

In fact, now you mention the subject, I have been very bad in my own small way.

... And I've broken other things! I've smashed that... and that's gone... and I've just thrown the cat out the window!

Good. I'm glad you're coming with me on that. Yes, so, um, uh, this is all true. And, um, so, yes.

Where was I?

With more than ample time (and two holidays) before our January opening and no less than four new girls vying for the now-available role of Cecily, the show will not be harmed by the loss.

The question remaining, then, is how you'll feel about Jack/John/Ernest having a "town" home in New York and a "country" house which seems to be in Florida, where his young ward is left (now several thousand miles away) to study the "thoroughly respectable" language of Germany so soon after the second world war. And never mind that he was given the last name of Worthing in honor of the seaside resort in Sussex to which the man who found him in a handbag had a rail ticket. Obviously, for our 1950's American purposes, Sussex is a county in New Jersey which is not landlocked.

The shift from Victorian England to America on stage was made to avoid bad accents. Interestingly, though, new accents have evolved. Our "reverend" (not Doctor) Chasuble has a thick Southern Baptist drawl. Our Miss Prism is pulling hard from the Latino culture. And my "Mrs." (not Lady) Bracknell is well... a bit of a Yenta. Lord help us when all those accents meet on stage in collision worthy of Reeses' peanut butter cups! "You got your drawl in my Jewish!" "You got your Jewish on my drawl!"

In the meantime, though, it seems like it's going to be great fun.

I'll keep you posted.