While rummaging through old memories of life in amateur and semi-pro theatre, I stumbled upon a collection of half-forgotten moments when the actions on stage didn’t follow the script:

During a performance of “Of Mice and Men” and playing the role of George: in the first scene, Lenny and I are camped by the river sharing a can of cold beans.  First, I had to learn how to open a can with a pocketknife, which was tricky enough to do in real life, let alone in front of an audience.  But one night, one of us knocked over the beans as we laid out our blankets and Lenny had to lie in it until the lights went down.  The picture of passive, simple-minded Lenny glowering at me in the wings is still priceless.

Later on in that same run: the final scene is one of the most shocking moments in modern drama, when George, out of a skewed sense of mercy, shoots Lenny in the back of the head.  Lenny’s on his knees looking out over the audience toward the land of milk and honey and rabbits and I stand behind him, pointing the gun at the back of his head.  The lights cut out and the shot is immediately heard, followed by a slump of a body.  I was using a starter’s pistol as the prop.  But one performance, the pistol either wasn’t loaded with caps or it misfired. The lights cut out only to be followed by a “click” of the gun.  The stage manager realized what was happening and quickly yelled “Bang!” from the wings.  The horrified Lenny slumped, probably wishing he could stay there and not get up for the curtain call.  I, of course, wished I could blow my own brains out.  There’s nothing like actor’s humiliation as a leveling force.

One performance during a dramatic interpretation of Franz Kafka’s “The Trial” I was in the role of eccentric artist Titorelli that the character Joseph K visits to get insight on his dilemma and ordeal of false accusation.  We were in a black box theatre composed of metal Unistrut and wooden planks and had constructed a small cubicle raised 10 feet off the ground to simulate Titorelli’s tiny atelier.  I was playing him as sort of a crazed Dali, very physical and a bit clownish.  I had conceived of a bit that had me flying backwards onto a high stool next to an easel as I answered one of his questions, plopping perfectly on its seat.  The stool was right at the edge of the platform and one night I misjudged the leap and felt the stool leaning backwards.  I screamed and grabbed onto one of the Unistruts, saving me from tumbling down to the floor.  I’m still not sure if the audience realized what was going on, as the actor playing K didn’t have time to react and just stood there.  Or did he?  We finished the scene undeterred, working the fall into our dialogue, but I decided to cut that bit out of the rest of the performances.  The director agreed.

In a scene from “Winter Chicken” at a dinner theatre in Slidell, LA, I played the young romantic interest to the daughter of the protagonist, and again, being a physical actor, had conceived of a pratfall over the sofa on an entrance.  I think I was “Kramer” before there was a Kramer.  The director loved the bit and it was as well rehearsed as any scene in amateur dinner theatre (meaning not very much).   One performance, I tripped before the fall and instead of the controlled tumble that always got a laugh, I produced a body slam off the sofa onto the stage.  I saw 2 people get up from their tables to check if I was alright.  The director decided to cut the fall out, I disagreed.

During the same run, my romantic interest and I had a scene where we’re making out on the sofa (in dinner theatre, there’s always a sofa) right when her father walks in and glowers at us for a laugh.  We had conceived of some stage bits while we’re kissing, a bit of physical wrangling to break up a long stage kiss.  Since I’m lip-to-lip with her, I’m too close to see that her breast had popped out of her blouse right when her father walks in so I had no idea why this scene was eliciting screams of laughter when most of the nights it was just a little titter.  I pulled away just in time to see her push the errant flesh back into her blouse and was too shocked to say my next line.  Maybe I was waiting for the stage manager to yell “Bang!” from the wings.