I'm
locked in a poky subterranean lavatory, struggling to get into silver
leggings originally made for Matthew Kelly.
In
less than an hour, I shall be enjoying my five seconds of fame,
walking on to the Playhouse stage in Spamalot. It's not a demanding
role. Listen for the cue, stride on, left hand on Sir Robin's right
shoulder, double take, apologize and off Stage Right. But I do get a
full costume, with plastic breastplate and rather nice soft leather
boots, a radio mic for my one word of dialogue, a rehearsal and
ceaseless support and encouragement from the friendly but very busy
company, including the lovely Bonnie Langford, Joe [Arthur King]
Pasquale, Kit Orton [whom I last saw in The Hired Man] and of course
the endlessly reassuring Rob Delaney [whom I last saw as Posner in
Chichester]. And not forgetting the patient, unflappable stage
management team and the wardrobe ladies whose space I invaded for a
couple of hours.
The
cramped wings are noisy and very busy – a plague cart here, a
shrubbery there – but I can see most of the action as well as the
quick changes and the props grabbed from the offstage racks. And then
it's that "aptly" cue, and I'm on … and off, all too
soon, my one moment of West End glory gone in a flash.
Spamalot
is running all summer and into the autumn, with stars appearing as God [on video] for charity, and the new Friday schedule, which has a
6pm post-work slot as well as a 9pm.
My brief review here ...
My brief review here ...
