Backstage: Laughter Behind the Scenes

Sawdust flies through the air, puffing sideways from under the wheels of a young actor, cloaked in white, who bursts out of the darkened wings and zips across the Lesher stage.

“Fa-la-la-la-la,” he sings, before disappearing.

It’s dress rehearsal for Center Rep’s A Christmas Carol (official opening Friday) and we are a fly on the wall.

“Can you get back in the hole?” Artistic Director Scott Denison asks a light-decked actor, also dressed in white. “This isn’t working at all.”

Ten seconds later, she’s sucked up, up, up and away, flying 30 feet into the air and vanishing in a blast of fog and an explosion of bright light.

“This rehearsal has morphed into something else,” John Earls, the lighting designer, says to Stage Manager Jeff Collister, who sits next to him delivering lines to the actors.

This close to opening night, most of them don’t need cues, but one actor is holding a script and gazing about in confusion as a swirl of caroling choristers bound past him.

Denison moves to the front of the theatre’s house, standing at the edge of the stage and looking up at the actors, who shush each other.

“Listen, Jack has the flu,” he says, “and Mike is jumping in to read the part.”

He’s referring to Jack Powell, who has performed the role of Ebenezer Scrooge for the past seven years, and Michael Ray Wisely, who plays the ghost of Christmas Present in the current production.

Except this night, Wisely will double dip, springing back and forth between the two parts.

This is going to be a mess, we think.

And when choreographer Jennifer Perry, dressed in slim-fitting black and twisting a pink scarf in her hands, strides across the stage shooing Wisely through a tunnel of outstretched arms just in time to avoid a collision, we think we’re right.

Except we’re not.

Amazingly, everyone is calm. There’s no tirade, no offstage drama. In fact, there’s laughter, everywhere.

From the whirling, paddle-turning ensemble to the delicious giggle of the ghost of Christmas Past to the scurrying cluster of children who dash across the multi-tiered Victorian style set, bubbles of joyous laughter lift the gloom of Scrooge’s scroogey-ness to atmospheric heights.

Which isn’t so remarkable, given that it’s meticulously rehearsed happiness, for all the air of spontaneity these actors are able to layer upon it.

What’s impressive is that this reality show, not the one onstage but the offstage action, is also set to a soundtrack of guffaws.

Five minutes before the official start of dress rehearsal, the familiar public announcement about cell phones and emergency exits is tested.

“No touching, no talking, no texting,” Denison adds to the recorded voice’s instructions to dismantle all phones, “and if you’re smiling, stop right now.”

From the response of Sound Designer Jeff Mockus, you can tell the comment is as much a tradition as the “Going dark!” that is called out whenever the onstage lights are about to be distinguished.

When Mockus adds a new school bell sound to the production, Denison skips lightly up the aisle, saying, “I love it, I love it,” in a sing-song voice.

With only 12 rehearsals to bring the show that 10,000 people will see to the stage, and the lead actor home in bed, we’re still thinking Denison—or someone in the cast or crew—is sure to pop a cork, despite the professional calm.

Then, magically, the lights in the theater go dim, four actors bathed in a glowing pool of warm light lift their gorgeous voices, and the first act begins.

Wisely, dressed in blue jeans amid the rest of the cast who are in full costume and make-up, races through the tunnel of arms at precisely the right moment, as if he’s been practicing it for years, instead of mere minutes. He uses the script to scatter beggars and rarely glances at it during several of the scenes.

We begin to think he could take on both roles, if it weren’t for the costume changes. Which allows a question to pop into our minds: What will happen if Powell has not recovered by opening night?

“We don’t speculate on things that will never be,” Denison replies.

Because he’s the director, and because we’ve just sat through 50 magnificent minutes of theater and watched a community of actors band together to soldier on with remarkable skill, we trust him and, finally, settle back in our seats for a delicious ride through The Christmas Carol.