CONFESSIONS, Revisited

So I just completed a one-weekend run of Confessions from the Ladies Room, the same play I was in two years ago and had commented on here previously.  This time, I faced what was possibly the greatest acting challenge of my career so far-playing a woman.  And not just any woman…an over-the-hill television and stage star diva at that.  Those who know me, of course, would respond to this by saying something along the lines of “And where’s the challenge in that for you, dear?”  A line, in fact, which my character, Vivian West, might herself have aimed like a poisoned dart.

It all began, I think, when I mentioned last summer to the local director, Doug, who later helmed the production, that I would have loved to have played the Wicked Witch of the West in the Canton Players Guild’s The Wizard of Oz…and it wasn’t for lack of trying that I didn’t actually get that role.  But that’s another story.  Doug remembered my willingness to step across the gender line, and when he was unable to cast an appropriate actress to play Vivian West (ironic, isn’t it?), he contacted me and asked if I was game.  Of course I was!  What was stopping me?  A fear of making a fool of myself?  Concerns about offending my extremely conservative parents?  Worries of offending other conservative members of the community?  Been there, done that, got all the T-shirts. 

I fell right into the character of Vivian from the first reading.  And that’s not because I’m Laurence Olivier (or perhaps Sarah Bernhardt would be more fitting), but because I’ve been watching and studying performances in film and theatre by actresses like her since I was a young adolescent, lonely and at loose ends, passing long summer days by watching Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? or Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte, and reading avidly about Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, and their many wicked stepsisters.  Frankly, as of this point in my life, I could have played Vivian in my sleep.  An added factor in my “chemical” suitability for the role is a certain coolness, distance, and reserve in my own character which has frequently been interpreted as snobbery.  Oh, well.  We can’t all be Ryan Seacrest, can we?

Early rehearsals weren’t a bit awkward, as I felt I was “playing” Vivian through the filter of my own safe, tried-and-true image…stubbly face…baseball cap…torn jeans or “Charlie Harper” cargo shorts and T-shirts, and the ever-present Chuck Taylor hightops which are a trademark for me, just as Crawford’s ankle-straps were for her.  Then, slowly, I began to be presented with articles of clothing and accessories which would eventually effect my physical transformation into Vivian West.  And in retrospect, it is interesting how I reacted to that inwardly. 

I am far from being overtly masculine-in fact, when I was in college, a rather tactless acquaintance of mine once posed the question, “Craig, you are a man, aren’t you?”-but nor do I go around waving a rainbow-colored flag and blowing kisses at friends and foes alike.  I am a man, and although I have often felt I would have been better off if born a girl-maybe even a lot prettier-I’ve never felt the urge to alter my gender status.  So the night when I first tried on the high heels, the fake bust, the wig…it all gave me pause. 

Why was I nervous?  Moreover, why did I feel just a teensy bit ashamed?

I had never gotten any opportunity to see what I would look like as a woman.  Friends had laughingly promised to “do me up” in drag, just for fun, but it never actually happened.  So, when it was time to complete the transformation-to really get down to the business of turning myself into Vivian West, outside as well as in-I did so with more than a slight sense of trepidation and “What could I possibly have been thinking?”

I needn’t have worried.  The hours and pains devoted to the selection of the wardrobe paid off-I didn’t look silly or like a walking joke.  In truth, I was quite attractive.  With makeup, a well-styled wig, a sleek, elegant outfit capped by a fur coat and feathered hat for my entrance, I might have been a young Lauren Bacall or an older Meryl Streep.  No, there was nothing to laugh at in my appearance.  To my immense relief, the laughter I did hear during the four performances in front of audiences was a result of the play itself, and Vivian’s life within it. 

My first drag role turned out to be a much different (and better) experience than I had ever expected in all the time I thought I would like to try it.  And as well as I thought I knew Vivian, she still taught me things about timing, interacting, and nonverbal communication that I had never yet explored.  She also taught me, I think, respect.  Any guy can go out there on the boards in a dress and boa and get laughs.  I wanted to make my audience (and fellow actors) see and respect Vivian, not Craig in drag.  That was, I see now, the true test I set for myself in my latest acting challenge.  And after I cast aside those first faint inhibitions,  I think I succeeded.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to test myself again someday-boa, heels, broomstick-whatever she requires.

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