Sacrifices for our Art

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!”