It’s the actor’s worst nightmare. The lights go up.They walk on stage. And then they’re handed the script. Iranian playwright Nassim Soleimanpour’s White Rabbit, Red Rabbit is only performed by the bravest. There is no rehearsal, no director and no indication of what the performance will entail. A revolving cast of 17 Kiwi actors will take on the challenge in Auckland from tomorrow night. Six of them share their ‘worst nightmare’ stories to date.
MIA BLAKE I have never been a big fan of having my head lower than my toes. Hanging upside down, standing on my head, cartwheels – they all fill me with great anxiety. I did a show years ago where I had to use two actors to steady me whilst I did a flip.
I dreaded this moment and it took all my acting power to remain in character and not go screaming from the room. We always rehearsed the flip in our warm-up but on opening night, in a last-minute panic two minutes before the show opened, I thought it’d be a good idea to rehearse it one more time. It was not a good idea. I somehow managed to land on my big toe, bending it in a way no big toe should ever be bent. The audience poured in. I nearly fainted from the pain but Doctor Theatre kicked in and I somehow made it through the show (flip included). After curtain call, pain flooded through me. My toe looked like one of those purple kumara ‘Sweeties’ you get at the supermarket. It was horrendous. I could barely walk and hadto be taken to A&E.
The nurse told me, “Do not do any more shows.” So I went home, RICED [rested, iced, compressed and elevated] it, stayed in bed till the next afternoon, hobbled to the show, performed, went home and repeated this routine for three more nights. Thank God it was a short season. My toe is fine now but if you see me in a yoga class and I don’t take the handstand option, you will now know why.
DAI HENWOOD I was performing my character P-Funk Chainsaw,a six-foot-five American wrestler in a tiny white guy’s body. I was wearing tasselled jeans, a unitard and high-heeled boots. I thought I would make my entrance to stage memorable by putting a sparkler in my fly and lighting it just before I walked out – the plan was to impress the audience and then put it out in a glass of water.
I had never tried this before and when I lit the sparkler it started smoking, rather than sparkling – when I walked out on to stage I could only breathe smoke. Instead of starting my show with the well-prepared words and hilarious accent I’d prepared, I had an asthma attack and collapsed on the ground. I crawled off stage and the MC ran back on to save the show. The only upside was the audience laughed the entire time.
ELIZABETH McRAE On the day of the shoot I was introduced to the bull, which was already stamping and puffing in his stall. I felt the saliva drain from my mouth. I was to act out the process of artificial insemination – obtain the bull’s sperm with a contraption on the bull’s penis. The wrangler assured me that if the bull became at all irritable he would immediately pull me out of the way. I felt that was the least he could do but managed a weak thank you. I always try to co-operate with film crews because once you get the reputation of being a cow to work with, your chance of getting roles is diminished.
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The director described the close-up. “I want your head as close as possible to the bull’s flank while you deliver your lines to the actor playing the vet. Don’t forget to keep the hand action going and you’ll have to project above the noise the bull is making.” I assumed that there would be just one take – being what it was. But no, I was assured that the animal would oblige every nine minutes up to six times. The director called action, I yelled out the lines and managed to keep the hand action going. Any attempt at characterisation had vanished. The bull huffed and puffed and stamped alarmingly. After a few takes the shot was in the can.
