Must The Show Go On?
Until recently, my son, Christian, attended weekly drama lessons. As a loving parent, it was my job to ferry him to and from the sessions every Saturday morning in order that he could pretend to be a growing tree while I pretended to be happy stumping up the necessary fees to turn him into a budding star of stage and screen.
The drama group was part of a nationwide chain, chosen partly by my son after his best mate told him how 'brilliant' it was and that you 'get to sing and everything!', and chosen partly by us, his parents, based on the group's promotional literature. Literature that promised full training in how to dance, sing and wear sequinned costumes in front of others without undue embarrassment. They also promised an end of year performance in a real theatre, '...the like of which will never be seen...' maybe entertained '...anywhere else.' Cue a further cheque, payable six months in advance, for this 'must see it to believe it' show. In hindsight, their marketing said it all.
Hence, as the time approached for my son's acting transition from small time school plays to big time glitz and glamour, there was a certain amount of expectation, excitement and nerves in the Barley household. As Christian began rehearsing his lines and dance routines, Gillian and I worked on our bit parts as overly exuberant parents ready to cheer our acting prodigy on every time he appeared just outside the spotlight. But unfortunately, all our practice was to be in vain.
'Christian's upset about the production,' said my wife one evening.
'What's he upset about?'
'He's unhappy about missing half the rehearsals. I can see what he means as we have been away a lot recently.'
'So? He'll catch up. He's good at memorising song lyrics and there are still four weeks to go. He's never had a problem being ready for his school productions before.'
'That's because the kids get to practise in school time. Christian's upset because he doesn't think he'll master the dance moves in time. And remember we're up at your mum's next weekend, and Christian's got scout camp the weekend after.'
'So we're forking out money for drama lessons he rarely attends, and for tickets to a show that is now looking doubtful because our little male diva isn't ready? Whatever happened to "The show must go on"?'
'Christian just wants to do his best, but it's starting to stress him out. And he's got his Year Six SATs exams coming up shortly. I think it's too much and we should pull him out of the show.'
'I forgot about the exams. Looks like the Olivier Award will have to wait for next year. I'll break the good news to Christian if you break the bad news to the drama teacher.'
'Thanks!'
Not only did Christian pull out of the show, he also decided to stop drama altogether as he felt it would be awkward being the only one not rehearsing in the lessons. His teacher didn't make a song and a dance out of the loss of our star performer - which didn't say much for his role in the proceedings - and my son cheered up considerably once the actual drama was over.
But it did leave Gillian and I with the problem of what to do with a job-lot of tickets for a show that no longer included our son. We decided, after the box office kindly pointed out the words 'non-refundable' on the back, to attend as planned, but without the extended family. Watching other people's children perform 'Am Dram' was not something we could inflict on Christian's Granny and Uncle - who would have had to make a special journey down from Staffordshire - which meant we had a spare seat for our coats and another for Christian to use now he was in front of the stage rather than on it.
On the day, we gained even more space when Christian's Great Auntie Kath passed a motion not to attend having had a bout of food poisoning the previous evening. With our seats situated bang in the middle of the third row, we agreed with her that two sticks, a dodgy knee and a dodgy stomach might have the house permanently on its feet for all the wrong reasons.
Even on the journey there, Gillian and I were still looking for excuses not to attend.
'How long's it going to go on for?' I asked in the car.
'It can't be more than a an hour or so, surely?' replied Gillian with a resigned look.
'I suppose it would be awful to suggest turning round and driving home to spend the night curled up in front of the telly?' I said hopefully.
'We should go as it helps support Christian's drama group,' replied Gillian.
'Ex-drama group,' I pointed out.
'Why don't we get a DVD and watch a film?' suggested my daughter from the back seat. Christian was keeping quiet. He knew his vote didn't count on this occasion.
Gillian countered our rebellion with a compromise. 'Look. If it's really bad, we'll leave at the interval, and if anyone asks we can say Auntie Kath's taken a turn for the worse.'
'Sounds fair,' I said. 'Looks like we'll get to watch The Apprentice after all.'
Half an hour later, with my expectations as low as a politician's morals, the curtain rose and onto the stage, wearing silver and black lycra, paraded twenty or so cutesy kids to the strains of Queen's 'We Will Rock You'. The rest of the audience went wild at the sight of their offspring - whooping and cheering at their bemused kids on stage. It was a clever move by the drama teacher putting the 6 to 9 year olds on first. The bar could only be raised from then on. Sadly, the bar was where I wanted to be right then. Instead, myself, Gillian , Bethany, and Christian wore forced smiles and clapped along - when we weren't surreptitiously checking our watches.
Not being on constant lookout for my son's part in the proceedings meant I had ample time to cast an appraising eye over the children on stage. It didn't take long to understand exactly how Simon Cowell must feel when faced with similar line ups on 'Britain's Not Got Talent.'
Admittedly, the lanky boy wearing spectacles stage right seemed to be enjoying the performance, going by the fact he ignored the dance routine altogether, and spent the whole song waving and beaming at his parents. And I did admire the efforts of the girl with plaits on the left whose missing front teeth did nothing to impair the volume of her singing voice, although it did impact somewhat on the key she used.
Next up was a well choreographed routine involving a dozen teenagers, multi-coloured tutus and some catwalk-style poses that would have put Kate Moss to shame. The fun continued with the return of the tiddlers. This time wearing striped prison garb and being chased round the stage by officers that proved the theory that the police nowadays really are getting younger and shorter. The 'Benny Hill meets the Keystone Cops' routine did make me smile, but it would have been more impressive if it had been in time to the music. Then came a couple of moralistic pieces, one about overcoming bullying and another about the effects of drinking. Both were well interpreted in dance and lyrics and well worth the applause they received at the end. We also spotted Christian's school friend, and a couple of other kids we knew, which upped the Barley interest level.
Half an hour in and I began to exchange surprised glances with Gillian that said, 'It may be Kellogg's Variety rather than Royal Variety, but things seem to be going with a snap, crackle and pop.'
In fact I have to admit, it turned out to be a really entertaining first half. So much so, that we declared the all clear on Auntie Kath's bowels at the interval and had strawberry ice creams to celebrate. The second half kicked off with an amazing song and dance routine from the older teenagers set to music by Evanessence which had the Barleys whooping and cheering along with the rest of the audience.
By the end we all agreed it had been a really entertaining show and not what we'd expected at all. But if I had to vote on who gave the best performance of the night, I'd have to go for the plump tiddler with the permanent scowl on his face and lead weights in his arms and legs. Every scene he was in, he barely scraped together the energy to breathe let alone move and his body language shrieked, 'I really, really don't want to be here!'
His father was in the audience and compounded his misery by periodically shouting out, 'Smile, Jason!' Jason patently didn't feel he had anything to smile about, especially when his father ran up the side of the stage at the end of a particularly lethargic song, grabbed his son by the arm, and bellowed in a stage whisper so that everyone could hear, 'At least act like you're enjoying it. People are watching!'
If we weren't before, his father had made sure we were now. The final scene with Jason had him wearing a spider's costume and begrudgingly dragging his fake limbs across the stage to the sound of 'What's that coming over the hill...is it a monster?'
No. It was a severely pigged off son who will never EVER forgive his bullying father for putting him through such purgatory.