Let's Talk About Ghosts; Let's Talk About Set Design

The current revival of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof is not, in my opinion, as bad as the critics think. While I found the mishmash of Southern accents and off-stage servants' chorus distracting, I also found a lot to like with this lush, not-terribly-subtle production. Mostly, I loved the set—a dreamy fantasy of life in the aristocratic south whose soaring windows wouldn't feel out of place at the Met Opera. Some critics complained that the massive space distracted from the intimacy that is at the play's heart, but to them I blow a raspberry. The set was gorgeous—it was the directing (and sound design) that's caused the play problems.

This morning, I spoke to designer Christopher Oram, the genial Englishman responsible for the play's scenery. He had a lot of interesting stuff to say, and got quite passionate when I asked him about the choice, in previews, to experiment with having the ghost of Brick's friend Skipper lurk about on stage.

There was a lot of anger about it. It was anger! There was something vile that man wrote, reporting hearsay, but it created such a riot, an absolute riot, and after that it became very hard. A dozen reviews mentioned it, even though it wasn’t in the version of the play they saw. It became a bit of industry gossip, baggage those reviewers brought in when they saw the play.

The point is, Skipper is in the play. He’s mentioned constantly. He’s the third part of the triangle. Having him there really helped Scarlett and Ben [Walker, who plays Brick] establish the weirdness of their relationship. The removal of it didn’t change their relationship.

I’m saddened that one isn’t allowed to experiment. If we’d done it on opening night and it had been removed and we’d gotten the flak, then fair enough. But isn’t that the point of previews? With the Internet, literally the first performance becomes public property. This also makes the critics slightly redundant., if a critic brings that gossip, that baggage into the review.

As much fun as everyone had laughing at the idea of Skipper's ghost, I think there's something to like about a big-budget production having the good sense to admit it was wrong before opening night. No sense punishing a show that's already admitted a mistake.

Read the rest of the interview here. It's a good one.

Mulan Saved China, and B.H. Barry Saved "Mulan"

It doesn't take much for a play to leave me glowing. All I want is to see a good script handled intelligently, with no slow parts, some strong performances, and nothing pretentious to get in the story's way. That doesn't sound like much, but those who see a lot of plays know it's more rare than you think. Golden Boy, playing on Broadway for the next week, is one of those happy exceptions. I saw it on Friday, and haven't quit buzzing since. It's a gorgeous production, and it has a bit of Grade A stage combat, directed by Grade A fight director B.H. Barry. I spoke to Barry yesterday afternoon, about Golden Boy, Treasure Island and Mulan. 

Boxing is so essential to this play—what challenges did you find in designing Golden Boy's combat?

It was one of the strangest challenges ever. All the company went into boxing lessons, and they finished up knowing a lot more about boxing than I did. But the guy playing Golden Boy [Seth Numrich] was not quite as fast as the other boxers, so I had to slow them down.

What they learned was a modern style of boxing, so I had to reorganize what they learned into something that was more theatrical. I mentioned to them that they had to make the hero look better than they were. One of the guys who was really good, he was very, very fast, so I made him an old slugger—someone used to throwing his punches really heavy, a guy who had been beaten up a lot in his life. 

What I do is, I try to tell stories through fights. Just doing the fights themselves, anyone can do that. It has to be about character, and it has to tell the story. 

It's one of the more fun interviews I've done in a while. Read the rest over at Bullett, and move heaven and earth to see Golden Boy if you can. I've got the film version on my DVR and am planning on watching it this week. If you're lucky, I'll tell you how I like it.

Fifty Pounds of Foam Makes For One Sweaty Actor

What kind of challenges did you face in designing this colossal suit? 

It's the biggest thing that I've had to fabricate for the stage. The fabrication of it began in July, but we've been on this project since March. As you know, without the fat suit the play isn't quite convincing. It was a long process of trial and error, because no one had really made something so big. Something like Fat Bastard, or those celebrities that go around and are fat for a day, that's always a joke. We wanted something that would be convincing, and not evoke a comedic response but empathy and humanity.

The question was, how do we make it real on an Off Broadway budget? We had to have it ready for the actor to rehearse in it almost from day one. Because everyone else's job depended on the suit being finished, it was important that we do our job way in advance.

So how did you make it work? 

It was about what worked on Shuler's body. We knew going in that we couldn't begin until we had the actor. From my research, every person who gained weight, every person who is six hundred pounds, they all carry it in different places. It was all about Shuler's anatomy. He asked us to make it heavier, so he could feel enough of the pull of gravity so it could be semi-realistic. So we had to experiment with how much foam to put on it, what kind of foam,  thicker foams and thinner foams and how to make each part move independently.

It became sculptural, in a way. We had a fitting with Shuler for four hours, putting pieces of flab in various spots on Shuler's body and seeing where it felt right.

How much does the thing weigh?

It weighs about fifty pounds. It does look like more. It probably couldn't and shouldn't weigh any more because Shuler has to sit in it for so long. It's quite hot. 

He sweats a lot during the play. How much of that comes from the weight of the suit, and how much is make up?

Some of it is him, and some of it we've added. The idea is that the play is five days in this man's life, and we made the choice to have him not change clothes. We figure, Charlie probably doesn't have access to very many outfits, and right now he probably doesn't care much about changing clothes. We have five different shirts that we rotate through the play that get increasingly sweaty and stained. They deteriorate as he deteriorates.

Was he excited to get into the suit?

He's been such a champion, so game for it. He was really collaborative with the process from the beginning. He would wear it all through tech, fifteen hours a day, and you can't pee in it. It takes two people to take it off him. It's kind of masochistic, but it's been helpful to him, to help him get some understanding of how it is to be Charlie. He did a lot of research as well, watching people of this size move and breathe. His performance is partly the suit, but it's also him selling it.

So you're pleased with how it turned out?

It was a labor of love. Everyone came into this excited and challenged by the prospect of having such a big piece on stage. Everyone involved was committed to maintaining the integrity of the character. That was the challenge—not poking fun, not making it too big, so that we could create a reality for this world. We did an incredible job—better than expected for such a small space. The audience is literally a couple of feet away, which means we had to really do our diligence and make every piece authentic. We're all very proud.