I worked with Charles Ludlam’s Ridiculous Theatrical Company in New York City for twenty-one years as an actor, costume designer, writer, and director. My first appearance with the company was as Flossy Flanagan, the abducted ballerina in Charles’ play Caprice, a play about intrigue in the fashion world between rival designers Claude Caprice and Twyford Adamant. In this scene Caprice goes to the ballet to spy on his lover Adrian who has been tricked into sitting in Adamant’s box in the theater. In order to do this, Caprice (Charles) pulls one of the ballerinas (me) off stage during the number, ties her up, and performs her part in the dance.
The scene was invented the night before the first preview performance of the play. The play had a huge cast and no one was available to take the role. I had been dating Charles for six months and I was at the rehearsal, sitting in a corner finishing a term paper, when Charles asked if I would be interested in taking the role of the ballerina. I said yes, and that’s how I became a member of the company.
The ballet was performed by the original Trockadero Gloxinia ballet company, not to be confused with the Ballet Trocadero de Monte Carlo, her fabulous sister. The ballet was performed to music called “Romantique” (and forgive me, I can’t remember the composer, but it was glorious swirling pretty music). I was petrified. I had never been on stage before except in two Cub Scout productions: Rip van Winkle and a fashion show in a residence for the elderly — a performance that should have told me more about myself than it did.
We wore beautiful white tutus from Les Sylphides. I wore a red wig with a big white bow in the back. Suddenly there was a place for me in the world. I bought a brand new make- up kit the day of the show. I chose a beautiful green eye shadow to match my red hair. (I had never worn make-up before except in a grade school choir concert when Sister Francis Maura put lipstick on everyone, even the boys, so our lips wouldn’t wash out under the lights. Again it should have told me more about myself than it did.)
The show began. I was in terror. I thought I would die. I made my entrance, got pulled off the stage by Caprice as I was running around in a circle with Carlotta Orlandini, Grace Popova and Ekaterina Sobetchenskaya, three glorious members of the ballet company. After the dance I hopped onto the stage bound and gagged to the delight of the audience.
I had arrived. That was February 10, 1976.
It amazes me that thirty-one years have passed since that night. So many joys and sorrows, successes and failures — I mean learning experiences. Charles Ludlam’s death to AIDS in 1987 was a particularly harsh blow. I often wonder what more he would have accomplished. But then the same can be said of Bellini and Schubert, other greats who went to their glory too young. He is in good company.
The Ridiculous Theatrical Company closed its door in 1996. It was a painful decision. There was never enough money. I used to call it running like hell to stay behind. It became more and more a joyless experience. I had to move on. As terrifying as that was, though, a lot of great things have happened since I’ve been freelancing. I’ve gotten great opportunities that have taken me all over the United States, plus an amazing seven days in Toronto — which is a subject for another article.
As I write, I’m rehearsing two productions for the inaugural season of the Cleveland State University Summer Repertory Theatre. The musical The Robber Bridegroom by Alfred Uhry and Robert Waldman, directed by Artisitic Director Michael Mauldin, and Booth by Austin Pendleton, directed by Carl Whidden. I play the not-so- nice Salome in The Robber Bridegroom and Mr. Page in Booth. We perform in alternating rep. We opened Thursday June 14 and the show runs through July 15. If you’re reading this and you’re in Cleveland, come and see us. Call 216-687-2109 for information. Hey! It’s the inaugural season.
But back to the plays. I love both roles that I’ve been lucky enough to get. I love Salome because I get to cut up and be wicked and have a ball, and I just adore Mr. Page. It’s cool to imagine what it was like to be an actor in the nineteenth century and to work with the great Junius Brutus Booth and his son the greatest American actor Edwin Booth. To perform in Wild West mining towns and heaven knows where else. One of Mr. Page’s responsibilities in the play is to put local actors in the shows whenever the company reaches a new town. Stars in those days generally travelled with just a few people and then performed with pick-up companies in each city who were rehearsed and ready to support the star.
When I speak Mr. Page’s lines about putting the local actors in their roles, I cannot help but think of all the wonderful theater people I have met in my travels. Theater people who do vibrant necessary work outside of the big cities in America. Charles Ludlam appeared in The Big Easy, a movie filmed in New Orleans. When he was there he had this realization that people do quite well outside of New York City. I have seen this, and when I do it gives me a good opportunity to also think about Charles.
Since leaving the Ridiculous Theatrical Company, I’ve worked in many places, among them Omaha, Austin, Washington D.C., Seattle, Tuscon, Phoenix and now Cleveland. I’ve had the enormous privilege to work with some pretty amazing actors, writers, designers, directors, dancers, and technicians who are the backbone of regional theater in America. People who choose for various reasons to live and do vital work in these cities. There’s not enough room here to go into everything and I don’t want to get specific for fear of leaving someone out, but oh the thrilling theater I’ve experienced outside of New York.
It’s nice to look back over these last ten years and remember people who are dear to me. As I said earlier, rehearsals here in Cleveland are going great and once again I’m seeing some beautiful work from the local theater people. Lovely costumes, great sets, the lights look nice, the tech people are wonderful and the actors are turning in some beautiful performances. These days I need a reason for gratitude and hope.
