I chose to go to London because Sean Hayes was taking his Broadway production of “Goodnight, Oscar” there in September.
Since listening to the podcast “Smartless”, I’ve come to appreciate Sean’s appreciation of “the worst thing that ever happened” theater stories. Everyone has nightmare situations, that given a bit of time, can become humorous memories.
I sent Sean a letter, complete with an air mail stamp, in care of the Barbican Theater.
Dear Sean,
I know you like theater mishaps so here’s mine. I’m not an actor but I was a background dancer for a version of Oklahoma, set in Boston during the peak of the whaling industry. I was unaware that the whales spotted off shore were a good thing. I thought they were an omen. After the show my sister asked me why I looked so stern dancing while the others seemed gleeful. No one said anything to me during rehearsals so maybe the director thought I only had one look. (It was community theater after all.)
I’m looking forward to meeting you after your show, and introducing you to my niece. I’ll be the one with the harpoon.
Sincerely,
Alexandra Langstaff
You’d be surprised by what you can make with ribbon, duct tape, and a pencil.
I let my niece, who lives in the UK, know I’d written my matinee idol, and if, on the slim chance he offered us dinner after the show, we had to take him up on it.
Sometimes I amaze myself at what I think is possible.
The Barbican is huge. I was anticipating something a bit more intimate like our local theater. Imagine 1500 people watching me drive away a pod of whales versus 300. Despite its intimidating size, and the massive crowd, there were only about 12 of us standing outside the well marked back stage door after the show.
I took the opportunity to direct my niece to take a photo. “I won’t pose, but try to get a picture of me handing him the harpoon”. I could feel her cringe but I was too pumped with adrenaline to think past myself.
I wasn’t sure if I was excited, or anxious, horrified, embarrassed, and uncomfortable. When have I ever done anything like this before?
Oh wait, there were those incidents with David Sedaris, Ralph Covert, and also the Spinners.
The first to exit was the actor who played George Gershwin. I applauded him like a well-mannered American. People held out pens and programs for his autograph. I forgot about that tradition.
As he signed, the stage manager came out and announced that if anyone was waiting for Sean Hayes, he’d already left.
Oh. I didn’t expect that possibility.
The woman next to me asked George (David Burnett ) if he would pass on a gift to Oscar (Sean Hayes) for her. What an insult. How rude, how insensitive. She couldn’t be British, I thought.
“Yes of course!” He replied. I admired how polite he was.
If I hadn’t left my roll of duct tape in the room, I could have whipped together something and ad libbed. “Here’s a harpoon for Sean and one for you. It’s a long story, blah, blah, blah, but that was a whopper of a show!” But, I didn’t have the goods nor the guts to do anything.
Remarkably, one of the autograph seekers could sense my turmoil. “Do you have something for Sean? Just knock on the door, they will give it to him when they see him. Go ahead.”
She will never know how her encouragement boosted my bravery level. I will never forget it.
“Could you please give this to Sean? I made this harpoon because blah, blah, blah.”
”Why yes of course” the man behind the desk said. How kind. How helpful. How British.
We left the theater for the Tube. I was so elated that I could have run the four miles back to my hotel, but my niece had a bum knee.
I was dazed with excitement at what was, wasn’t, and could have been.
Maybe that’s why two different people offered me their seat on the 20 minute ride home.
Nonetheless, I have two theater stories to share when I get invited on to a podcast.
Alexandra Langstaff 