I had performed Red Hot Patriot, The Kick Ass Wit of Molly Ivins eight times
over a 2 ½ year period—six performances at the Elks Opera House (aka Prescott Elks Theatre) in Prescott, AZ
and two at The Studio Theatre of Northern Arizona University. Each venue
required adaptation technically. This was especially true of Friday night’s
performance, September 16, 2016 at the Centennial Center in Prescott AZ. The
room would seat about 130 people at round tables and the Yavapai Democratic
Party requested that I make the show fit 45 minutes--my profoundest apologies
to the playwrights. The acting area was about 10’ x 8’ including a desk and
chair. No special lighting. A screen for slides, but a sound system that did
not have the peripherals required for the setting—so a very scaled down show.
This meant of course that holding the audience was almost exclusively in the
hands of the actor. But with the words of Molly Ivins as the medium coupled with
my own passion for the piece as well as the work of my technician, Joseph
Hough,, the task was not onerous in the least.
There is a point in the play where
Molly tells us of her fight with breast cancer. In the first two productions a
dog that belonged to Molly long ago and long deceased begins barking and Molly
realizes she is on the cusp of death. Because of cuts made to the script and
the lack of a sound system this moment had to change. I created five slides
showing Molly with shaved head moving from color to fading to a full black
slide. In rehearsal Molly turns her back on the audience and watches the slides
before turning back and finishing the play with a call to political action.
I had long been frustrated with my
Molly wig. It works OK at a distance, but in this latest venue I was within 6
feet of audience members. Moreover my dark brown hair has a tendency to sneak
out from under the wig. That was when I had what I still think was a brilliant
idea.
So on Thursday evening I drove down
to the new James Hancock Barber Shop next to the entrance of the Elks Opera
House. Eric, a new arrival from New Jersey by way of Las
Vegas took me in hand, umm, head. I told him I wanted it as smooth as a cue
ball. So within seconds my already short hair was buzzed right down to a ¼ inch
or less. Next came a hot towel draped over my head. Then he covered my head in
a warm, foamy shaving cream. Holding my breath a wee bit, I watched Eric pull
out his gleaming straight razor. I told him no nicks. And there were none.
Ten days into Hair Recovery
He shared with me that he was a
Conservative and former Marine who brought his two year old to live here,
because he didn’t want him thinking Las Vegas was the real world. As I donned my
turban to leave the shop, I did wonder what he would have thought if he knew
that the haircut was so that I could play a liberal icon who coined the moniker
‘Shrub’ for former President George W. Bush.
Back at the Centennial Center,
without having rehearsed the move even once, I turned my back to the audience,
watched Molly’s image fade to black, reached up with my right hand and pulled
off the wig—smoothly thank goodness. Then I turned and faced the audience with
Molly’s take on the situation, “Well, cowboys and girls. Heck Fire!”
