|
|
|
|
HOME |
NEWS |
REDIFF DIARY
|
Vivek Fernandes |
|
 Wanted: Singers and Dancers for the musical Oliver! I found this ad in the newspapers one particularly bright Saturday morn. What a stroke of luck! Here I was, fresh out of college, looking for something to try my hand at. True, I did have the usual 11 to 7, but one could hardly call what I did thrilling. Also, the notion of being on stage, playing to full houses was very intriguing. There's no business like show business, they say. Fool I was, I let myself believe that. I emailed my resume. When summoned, I went to the audition, little knowing what I was in for. Singing is one of my many gifts. Modesty, as you may well have guessed, isn't. My vocal chords have been well exercised these past 20 years. And though Pavarotti I may not be, I certainly can carry off a tune. The casting directors too were of the same opinion, and I was asked to come in for the final audition. I went. "You must sing us this song... Go on over to the corner, here's the CD and the words... Come back in 10 minutes," Marianne, the vocal director, said. I went to the corner. But the song That's you funeral proved to be more difficult than anything I had bargained for. I returned when my time was up and sang, missing the cue only four times. Director Raell Padamsee was impressed. "Why don't you try acting the song out?" she said. "I need feeling... You're Mr Sowerberry, the undertaker, you've got to get under the skin of the character. Start thinking like an undertaker... Do it once again." The problem was that I had never met an undertaker; he's not someone you would bump into on the street. I was about to mutter something about this when the ADV, assistant director aka Advait, whipped out a huge black cape. "Use this, it will give you character... You have acted before, haven't you?" he inquired, obviously alarmed at my expression of complete bewilderment. "In college," I said. Throwing caution to the wind, I donned the cape, chucked away my spectacles thinking that would make me look more corpse-like, and sang once more... prancing, waving my arms about, fervently hoping I looked more ominous than stupid. Not that there was a hope in hell. But what the heck! More than the result, the effort was appreciated, for the role was mine. But I was told, "You've got to seriously work on it." That was over four months ago. The past 2,880 hours have been a tizzy. From my home in Mumbai's Bandra to my office at Mahim to rehearsal at Charni Road to Bandra again, the days have been long and tiring. Thrice-a-week meetings soon became daily rehearsals as Marianne taught us breathing techniques, voice modulation and control, pitch, tempo and diction. "Drop your jaw, flatten your tongue, sing from your diaphragm, bite your words... spit them out... how will anyone be able to understand you?" From music school we graduated to dance class. That was unadulterated torture. The steps were relatively simple, but the rigorous 45-minute workout that Karla Singh, our choreographer, pushed and prodded us through was living hell. "Flex your ankles, twirl, kick and pull, bend...bend...bend...energy...energy! We need more energy... smile please." Then came piecing the entire production together. We had to take things line by line, scene by scene. "You've skipped an entire scene. I can't have this! This needs a lot a polish... watch that accent," Raell would yell, a whistle hanging around her neck. "No one will get their hair cut, I can't have you looking like school kids." "Vivek, why don't you wear lenses? We can't have you on stage with your spectacles. I'll beat you!" Blackouts, music and lighting cues, lines and steps to remember; costume trials, shoe fittings, dress rehearsals (with makeup and fake beard). Things were in a complete spin. At long last, and before we knew it, the opening night was upon us. Our nerves were a wreck, our voices frayed - yet, inexplicably, we were charged, pumped up. "Sock it to them," said Raell. So we went out there and put up a show. The papers said we left them wanting for more. I hope that meant they liked it. The funniest part, however, was my mother not being able to recognise me on stage. Looked like the work paid off, eh? But more than the applause and the recognition or the money, what I will cherish most is the wonderful people who I can now call friends and the memorable times we shared. Would I do another musical again? You bet your bottom dollar! And I'm setting my sights west. They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway. Vivek Fernandes will dance and sing in Oliver! at Mumbai's St Andrews auditorium till February 2002. Illustration: Lynette Menezes Tell us what you think of this diary
|
||
HOME | NEWS | CRICKET | MONEY | SPORTS | MOVIES | CHAT | BROADBAND | TRAVEL ASTROLOGY | NEWSLINKS | BOOK SHOP | MUSIC SHOP | GIFT SHOP | HOTEL BOOKINGS AIR/RAIL | WEDDING | ROMANCE | WEATHER | WOMEN | E-CARDS | SEARCH HOMEPAGES | FREE MESSENGER | FREE EMAIL | CONTESTS | FEEDBACK |
||
