Absence

A good deal of the art of directing a school play lies in accounting for performers who are not around. It's possible to have a crowd scene on stage for which one has never had the full number in any rehearsal. This is all very irritating and hampers the production of good work, but it is inherent in the situation, especially in Singapore, especially in a 'busy' school, and mine is a very, very busy school in Singapore.

Today was a particularly bad day in this regard, and coming one week before actual performance that might be worrying were it not for the fact that we are going into the week in good shape with talented, adaptable performers. I'm guessing that things are pretty bad regarding attendance due to the plentiful amounts of flu doing the rounds. Certainly one of our leads, who had to miss the morning rehearsal, looked well the worse for wear by four o' clock.

All this leaves me with one unusual anxiety. Generally it's reasonable to assume that no one is going to cry off from the actual performance on the grounds of illness - after all, the show must go on. But in this case if we get one case of bad flu amongst the key cast, H1N1 or not, we are going to be staring cancellation in the face. I don't think people in schools here recognise that it isn't just a matter of being unable to go on without the leads. Our show has about twelve parts that simply can't be covered in a last minute emergency.

Considering this earlier today, in the course of a somewhat extended break in the middle of the day caused by the fact we were unable to stick to the scenes I wanted to run due to lack of bodies, I suddenly remembered the one time in my career as director when cancellation was imminent. It was during a four night run of a school musical at the Victoria Theatre, in fact the final Saturday. We found out in the afternoon that Harry the Horse (it was Guys and Dolls) was ill and wouldn't be showing up. A quick recce of the remaining cast was enough to establish that no one was capable of doing the role. So we were looking forward to sending around a thousand punters home disappointed, and not too chuffed with us. The result: I did Harry. It was pure luck, but I seemed to have accidentally largely memorised the part (probably from having stood in quite a few times in rehearsal) and, equally fortunately, I'd choregraphed the two dance routines the character was in (simple stuff, by the way) and remembered my own choreography.

It worked, just, but it was the longest night of my life.

Advice: don't ever perform before a paying audience when you are reading lines written on your sleeve. It isn't good for the heart.

The curious thing about all this was that after the event no one seemed to think that what took place was unusual. As far as I could tell it was taken for granted that that's what directors did.