•✦—✦—✦•
Each and every rehearsal I attended seemed to reduce in attendees. A dozen actors disappeared to play animals at first. Next was the scheduling conflict, so I only attended the music rehearsals in rotations. One day I would learn a good portion of Doctor Dolittle and have Dixon go through each of our performances and add his signature elements. He seemed a cowardly person — creatively speaking, that is. But his decisions were ultimately smart; after all, why change the formula that worked in the past? Except, in this case, our source material hadn't aged well nor succeeded in the first place. The film had cost $15 million to make due to the number of animals and crew needed, and only made $17 million back. Of course, I had no idea about the actual figures, but that sort of number usually meant they lost money with marketing budgets. In the end, it was what you would call an Academy success. The film was nominated for many awards due to it being a top-heavy year, and it only received the Best Song award.
I had notes from a library that showed me the reviews were terrible. But it had given me a valuable lesson in how one could conduct a research. My revelations had never let me do that, facts were so easy to whisk from the air. While it was a novel experience, I didn't want to spend too much time doing it.
For the music rehearsals, it had only been about music, music, and music. Well, except for that one really special day.
—✦—
My Nain led me over to rehearsal. I was already getting tired of the musical parts. In my opinion, I had already perfected my simple and short parts. The rest of my duties were to only do harmonies or the rare lines I'd have to sing in ensemble numbers. You'd be surprised at how few parts each singer had compared to how full the company sounded in their performance. It didn't help that there were too many female ensemble members who could hit the notes I was primarily doing. On top of it, James, Darien, and I were the only children in the entire production. As a result, we got no responsibility. No duties and no amount of trust was placed on us.
"Oh, come now — left foot first and right foot next," Nain sang, urging me on.
"I can walk just fine, thank you," I said coolly.
"Then you wouldn't be dragging your heel so much. You know your mother was like this as a child — always throwing tantrums for not getting her way," Nain said, humming her tune.
"Mum turned out great," I interjected, with my chin held high.
"Girls are like that; boys are the opposite," she waggled her eyebrows, then nudged me closer. "Don't be late again, I'd rather not stand the clapping."
That made me blush slightly. Theatre folks were nice, but that didn't mean they let anything pass. Whoever came late received a full standing ovation from everyone else — cast or crew. Imagine being applauded by so many for wasting other people's time; the passive-aggressiveness was off the charts.
I put my hands in my pockets. "I told you, I had a stomach-ache," I insisted.
"No, you were busy with that old newspaper. Why would you even copy that? I'll tell you that my Erin has never done that at your age," Nain huffed.
"Is it wrong to research my predecessors?" I questioned her.
"It is wrong to be late," she said, making a gesture as if cutting the air.
I got the message. This was a tactic I had learned from my mother, and obviously, she had learned it from Nain herself. If you have a point that you can win an argument with, never let it go. Me being late was probably going to be used against me until it lost its effectiveness. Then Nain would shift over to something innocuous that I had done to keep me in line again.
We went inside the Ovalhouse, then made our way to the back where the rehearsal hall was. As we crossed the boundaries, James waved over at us but went back to his talk with Bryan. The actor for Matthew was the most friendly person possible out of the entire cast. He had made quick friendships with everyone and acted like a big brother to anyone younger than him. Though, his closest kinship seemed to be James, due to him resembling his nephew. He had promised to bring the boy for the show and joked about recasting him in place of James.
"See, we're not late," I said with a mock sneer. "I've perfected punctuality."
Nain's hands whizzed through the air, only catching the fabric of my jacket.
"A good boy wouldn't brag about bare minimums. This is also the first time you've been on time after last time," Nain reminded me.
Right — there was no winning against her.
Our rehearsal started and went as usual — ensemble numbers galore. Me bored out of my mind, I was passing time by playing along with James and Darien. The rehearsal space didn't allow for many games to be played, but there was a skipping rope that actors used to warm up. Darien and I held each end while Jamie was currently breaking our record by going thirty-two times in a row.
A sudden and loud roar of applause went off. For some reason, it had become a habit for me to throw away whatever else and start clapping. Someone had come to rehearsal an hour late. I couldn't even imagine what Dixon would do to whoever it was.
"My god," Nain gasped near me, her gaze stuck to a point across the room. Her feet carried her forward, almost unconsciously.
Looking around, I found that everyone was clapping or cheering without any of the irony that they injected to make it as painful as possible for the late attendant. No, this was a genuine and real cheering. The answer seemed clear as I saw brown hair so light it was almost ginger through the newly formed crowd.
Our last cast member had arrived — a full week and a half too late. Julie Andrews had an Emmy, Grammys, and an Oscar. Revelations had not much to say about her life or her awards, but I had done my research in the library. Apparently, she was on Broadway until just last year. Even more impressively, Leslie Bricusse had two shows going on at the same time. But Julie Andrews made an exit from Broadway after refusing her Tony nomination due to no one else getting nominated from the musical. She thought it a snub due to the fact her husband, primarily a film director had directed it. It may have been Julie's last chance at a Tony because just a year later she was off the stage due to needing a surgery. In the meantime, without the star power, there was no more interest in the Victor/Victoria musical. Her and Leslie's show was off-Broadway, and Julie was finally making her first appearance in public since her high-profile surgery.
She was saying something, but I couldn't hear her over the den of people's murmurs, cheers and worship.
A loud whistle rang through the hall, making my ears ache. Dixon pulled his fingers from his mouth and grinned at Julie Andrews.
"Oh, it's lovely to have you here. Welcome, welcome!" Mike Dixon said, wrapping her in a big hug, which Julie returned with equal warmth.
"Hi, Mike. Thanks—" Julie coughed lightly, clearing her throat, "—for having me. Please, introduce me to all these lovely people."
Julie Andrews had an air of royalty about her. She moved with such grace and spoke with effortless charm. More than anything, there was a sort of polished poshness about her — not the pretence I'd seen from a few kids trying to act fancy, but the real thing, through and through.
"Well, wow, this is going to be hard." Mike laughed nervously. "Alright, here we go — quick introductions only."
"Hold up there! I'd like a proper introduction to Julie Andrews. I mean, this is her!" Gary called out, his voice ringing clear across the hall.
Many people murdered their agreement.
"You'll have all rehearsal — and the rest of the run — to talk to her," Mike shot back, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Right then, rapid introductions! Phillip Schofield — you've met him, of course. That's Sarah…"
I tuned it out and focused on how Julie interacted with the rest of the cast. True to the article I'd read, she was incredibly kind. More than that, she was a master of communication — you'd think that repeating the same pleasantries over and over would start to ring hollow. Yet when Julie greeted me by name, it felt as though she genuinely cared. Evidently, she was a brilliant actor — I couldn't tell either way. Regardless, within five minutes of walking into the hall, she had everyone eating out of the palm of her hand.
"How about some musical rehearsals then? You must be eager to get back to it," Mike winked at Julie.
Julie's demeanour changed; her gaze looked down at her shuffling feet. I noticed that she apparently had her very own entourage — a blonde woman and a man in a dark leather jacket. Their faces were dark clouds.
"I have an announcement to make."
"Hey, hey." Mike walked in closer to Julie, his hands going over her shoulder. "You're not going to renege on your contract, are you? I mean, we can do something. Talk to Leslie if you can, he should be coming in an hour!" Mike let out in true rapid-fire fashion, his hands running through his hair as if expecting the worst.
The rehearsal hall became silent; only our collective breathing could be heard over the tension. A major name dropping out could negatively affect the production before it had even started.
Julie's head swivelled as she looked around the cast. Her gaze seemed to harden.
"No," Julie said, standing taller.
"But there is news — a bad one." Julie sighed, then cleared her throat. "Last year around this time I had developed a vocal problem, couldn't sing without pain, and when I could, it would sound raspy. I had four octaves of range then I found myself going flat in four octaves. We contacted the best surgeons in the world and got the nodules removed."
She started to tear up.
"That doctor was an incompetent fool. He promised me a full recovery in six weeks, but it's been a year, and I still don't have my voice. I can't sing," Julie said — this time, her tears came in floods.
The blonde woman near her hugged her closely. "Come on, Mum. It'll get better, I promise," she was saying.
No one seemed to want to speak up, but there were a fair few who had teary eyes or worried expressions. In moments, people started to wish her better health and offer up some kind words.
"Oh, come, dear," Mike said, getting into a group hug. Other cast members got into the big cuddling session.
Call me cold-hearted, but I stayed out of it. Theatre folks were too cuddly and nice, and while I appreciated it most times, it wasn't my thing.
"I've spoken to Leslie…" Julie sniffled. "We— we'll do it so that my voice is recorded and played. Depending on what notes I can hit, I'll sing some parts; the rest will be entirely spoken. It's the only way I can do what's right."
Her daughter seemed to lighten up at that. "Leslie showed us what Jim Henson's Creature Shop did. John Stephenson is amazing. They've got this plastic parrot that can move and talk. It looks like a horror film prop right now without the feathers, but it's uncanny how it can move."
Julie simply nodded.
"Please, come take a seat. I'd love to see how these rascals rehearse with you around. Leslie will be here soon. Here." Dixon gave her the seat close to where my grandmother was sitting.
Once she was seated, I was taken aback. Two years older than my grandmother, yet Julie looked just past her forties. Money and status seemed to have helped her — but not her voice, though. I should remember to treasure mine and protect it as is right.
I joined in an ensemble number. Once I finished, I made my way back to my Nain. Phillip took up the stage to start his session. It was the signal for most to leave as most of his songs were solos.
"—It was so dreadful back then, but I remember you on the Ed Sullivan Show. I was seeing this man and working at a textile shop. John Blake — what a terrible boss he was. We had a radio playing the BBC all day; John thought it made us work better, you see," Nain was speaking like old gossip buddies with Julie Andrews of all people.
To my biggest surprise, Julie was rapt.
"So BBC plays on radio, a recording of you singing Wouldn't It Be Loverly on Ed Sullivan Show. My husband and I were still living by ourselves, and that song really pushed us to start living together. In some ways, you had us elope! Our parents found out months later." Nain laughed.
"Oh, come off it," Julie chuckled, voice almost too low as she nursed it.
Nain noticed me, "Here, meet my grandson — Wilfred," she grasped my arms and introduced me to Julie freaking Andrews as if they were old friends and I some street kid.
"Hi, Wilfred. We've met, though," Julie said with a cough.
"Yes, yes." Nain said absentmindedly, "When I heard that song, we wanted a roof over us, but you know, I actually quit the textile shop to work at this place that supplied costumes to Capitol Theatre in Cardiff. I thought you'd come to Wales, but you were mostly in America," Nain said with a slight bit of thorn in her voice.
"Oh yes, those were the busiest years of my life," Julie said, her hand reaching for her daughter, who handed her a tea.
"I can't blame you at all, dear." Nain said holding Julie's hand, "After a few years, we had the Beatles come on, then Rolling Stones, Tina Turner. My god, do you remember the Yardbirds?" Nain asked.
"Eric Clapton — how could I not? My other daughter had a friend called Lory who was with Clapton. It was so terrible what happened," Julie spoke sadly.
"Oh…" Nain sighed. "Forty floors — God can be oh so cruel," Nain said.
"Never got to meet him after that — went into hiding afterwards. Anyone would." Julie seemed to be reliving old memories.
"On a happier note—" Nain spoke with a little pep in her voice, "how did you like Wilf's vocal work?"
"Hard to say," Julie said diplomatically.
"You can be as harsh as you want — I permit it," Nain said with a laugh.
When did she become so chummy with a legend like Julie Andrews? What was this wizardry?
"I didn't see much," Julie said, her eyes and neck falling to one side as she leaned back. "But I tell new actors on Broadway or West End to practise singing while moving around — try different songs than what you're learning here so you don't learn the wrong dance. It's difficult to transition from singing still to walking, acting, and dancing, all the while you are expected to sing as well as you did standing still. Often better," Julie said, then cleared her throat.
She took up her cup again, sipping the tea that smelled of honey and ginger.
"Thank you, I can't believe this," I said, stepping back.
"I don't bite. I'm only human," Julie said with a kind smile.
"Hope you don't mind me asking you about, like, a million things!" I said with excitement.
Julie seemed taken aback by my instant switch in mood, but she threw her head back.
"Ask away, young man."