Fake it 'til you make it

The theatre people got back to me again. They want me to be Paris. I said "OK" because it's clear to me that they're obscenely desperate for male parts. I wandered down to a rehearsal two days ago, pretty confident that I'd be able to handle it - I mean I just need to be cocky and say things like "These times of woe afford no time to woooooooooo!" and make ghost gestures with my hands. Easy!

Then they told me it was a 'dance rehearsal'. I was halfway out the door before I realised they wanted me to participate. Laughing in their collective faces failed to disuade them. Oh well. I shall demonstrate to them the error of their decision not through my words, but through my actions!

I have no formal dancing experience at all, excluding that time some girl tried to teach me how to waltz in time for a big dinner-dance. Foolish girl! Ballroom dancing is for people with grace, balance, hand-eye co-ordination and did I mention balance?

The choreographer got us doing stretches. Turns out that spending the majority of your time sat on internet does not give you a flexible body able to handle the rigours of THE DANCE! Being able to type a lot words per minute does not automatically translate into having the lithe, muscular body of THE DANCE! I decided that I was not starting off on the best foot (pun) when I couldn't even complete the stretches without falling over twice. I managed to play it off by saying "Whoa! Did anyone else feel that?!" and looking around worried, but I think the choreographer was on to me.

"OK guys! We'll start off slow. Just do what I do."

Starting off slow. That's good. I can handl-

"5 6 7 8 and step and step and swivel-step and arms-up 3 4 and step click step click step click step click and arms-down shoulder-turn freeze 2 3 4"

Wha-

"All together now!"

And they all did it perfectly! All of them! How I hate them with their dance experience and grace and ability to spin around on their left foot with their right foot in the air without barrelling into the girl next to them and making her glare at me, well I'm sorry little miss Ballet Lessons Since The Age Of Five, but my talents lie elsewhere. I just need to get them in a Super Smash Brothers tournament. Not so big now you're trapped in an egg, are ya?

By the end of the two hours (two hours!) I had worked out a way to fake the dance so if I hid at the back it looked like I was doing it right, but really I was just lifting my arms and walking around. Maybe this dance-play wouldn't be so bad, after all?

Then I went to yesterday's rehearsal. I wandered along ready to hit them with such gems as, "But now my lord, what say you to my suit?" which I planned to gleefully misinterpret as a reference to my snappy new Oxfam number.

First I asked them if they had a script for me. The director told me no, but not to worry, as today was a 'singing rehearsal'. I didn't even bother laughing in his face, because it was clear how this was going to turn out. But this time I wasn't alone! There was another guy who hadn't been to a singing rehearsal yet. An ally! At last!

They asked us what kind of voices we had and without hesitation the new guy said "Baritone". I hated him immediately because my answer of "Shocking" wasn't what they wanted. Of course the entire cast could sing spectacularly. I couldn't hit middle C. I couldn't even swing a puny fist in its general direction.

Terrible decision makers though they were, they weren't stupid enough to give me anything to perform solo. A plan formed! I would do what those wacky pop stars do when they can't sing - lip sync! I tested my plan.

When I sang along with everyone else the musical director would stop playing his nifty keyboard thing and say "Wait, wait, someone's a bit flat."

BUT, when I just lip synced, he had nothing but praise. "Wow guys, much better!"

After Christmas we'll be starting the actual dialogue, so until then I'll just work on that damn step click.


In other news I was recently auctioned off as a slave for £17.00.

BUSY TIMES!