Chapter 3 The Chopping Block Appears Part 1

Day in and day out we continue walking around and around the room. The sun once shining is now blazing and burning our eyes. The temperature that was once cooled has now been raised a good 20 degrees. The electricity has blown out about three different times, pulling what’s left of our energy with it. According to everyone who lives in the Bahamas power blackouts are common, daily occurrences.

I keep glancing at the door.  A new person that I haven’t seen before enters the room. “Thank God,” I think. Please be a savior, someone to stop this madness. Please be someone to bring order to this madness. Please be someone who sees’ us and wonders why we look like the cast of Awakenings.

“Run!” screams the Assistant Director. “Sit, stand up, drop to the floor, be an animal, jump up, now be a monkey”.  Everything he yells out, we do.  Now he is asking us to run around, shake someone’s hand and yell out “I’m glad you’re here!” We do this all at top speed.   Exhausted, I begin to believe that this is the way Manson trained his followers.

Why is this new presence doing nothing?  They are just standing there smiling, watching this madness. “Help!” I want to scream but the only thing that leaves my mouth is “I’m glad you’re here!”

Several additional people begin to enter the room and stand with this person.  They are all standing there watching us run around.  They stand there watching, hands down by their sides, big smiles on their faces.

“Hello everyone”, our Stage Manager yells waving his hands in the air and running into the middle of the room. “I need everyone’s attention.” We continue running not sure what we are supposed to do.

“People,” he screams “I need everyone’s attention.”  We pause for a moment and look at each other. Do we have permission not to move? I ask myself.

Motioning to the people who have entered the room he says "I want to introduce someone". “This is your director,” he says pointing to a large man with thick glasses and frizzy hair. He is about 6ft tall and dressed in a bright white shirt with the company logo on it. I look over this man. He stands there with smile on his face. The smile looks forced and phony. “Trust me,” it says. I’m not sure that I do. Then I notice his shoes, old and torn, his eyes are looking at me but he's not speaking to me. He’s just standing there staring at us, big goofy grin on his face.  I am starting to get nervous.  “What is he looking at?’ I want to scream.  He continues staring, just staring.  I look behind me, no one is there. Who is he looking at? I spin around again quick, still no one is there. “Crap, I’ve worked with him before” whispers someone in the cast.  “He's 40% blind in one eye and 60% blind in the other eye.”  We learn that this happened because of an accident in the park.  A flash pot went off in his face and he lost his eye sight.

Stepping forward with a smile still on his face he waves his arm like a Price is Right spokes model. “Ladies and Gentlemen” the director says. “I want to introduce someone who you will be spending a lot of time with, your musical director.” With that a skinny bald man with bad posture steps forward.  “He looks like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons” someone says under their breath.

The cast is actually excited for the first time. Our savior has arrived. this is what we are here for, we are here to sing and dance, dance and sing, oh joy lets sing instead of walking around like the living dead.

“Everyone grab a chair and join me around the piano” says our Musical Director. No one has to be asked twice, we fall over each other to get chairs, chairs beautiful chairs for sitting and singing, and singing and sitting. This cast has been around in the theatre for quite some time and we begin to form our sections.  Sopranos over here, altos there and the baritone and basses move to the back. We grab our music, sit up tall in our chairs, open our mouths and fill the room with singing. We turn pages at lightning speed. A hand shoots up; we come across the word QUAH.  We ask the musical director what it means. “The music was written by a southern musician” he tells us “That’s when the quah comes in and the soloist finishes” we are told.

We are informed that a click track will be playing while the shows go on and that the music is in the process of being recorded. Our vocal sections will change, and change daily. An overheard rumor spreads through the cast. “Did you know the NYC casting director was fired?” someone whispers. I have music to learn, I think to myself.  “I’m very sorry and thank god it wasn’t me.  I respond.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 2 Rehearsal Part 4

This hotel reception room is the place that we will call our home until we can move into the theater down the block.  We are told that process will happen in three weeks.

I look around the room. It has wall to wall carpeting and a portable wooden floor set up in the center of the room. In reality, it is a basic hotel ballroom with nothing too spectacular to see. That is, until you notice the view.

One entire wall is a row of glass doors that open onto a veranda. I walk out on to the veranda and looking down I can see right into the pool of the hotel.  Several guests are laying poolside in portable chairs in basic variations of dress.  They are all soaking up the sun. Beyond the pool is a spectacular view of the ocean. The hotel has created a huge sandy beach shipping in sand and lining it with palm trees.

Walking back into the room I notice that they have set up mirrors for us.  Then I realize that they are not mirrors at all but a makeshift wall in the middle of the room will mylar stretched over boards.  This looks pretty good except that sometimes the reflection gives you that “funhouse” look where you have a large head and small body.

Looking around the room I notice the following items. A producers table has been set up and is covered with several computers and telephones. The stage managers desk is set up and close to the Producers table. It comparison it is covered by a giant clock, various bottles of aspirins, a first aid kit, a cast sign in sheet and a big box of candy.

The day is beautiful; the sun is being reflected off the ocean and into the room. I feel safe and warm and excited to get started.  I walk over and stand in a warm spot on the carpet.

“Good Morning Everyone,” chirps a voice forcing me to turn around. Standing there with a big smile on his face and a stopwatch around his neck is our new stage manager. To me he looks a little like Uncle Fester from the Addams Family. Much later in the process he will become a very close friend and confidant of mine.

“If I can have your attention” he yells above the noise of the cast, signaling with his hands to lower the noise. “We have a couple of things we need to go over.” He begins to read off a list of do’s and don’ts that would be tolerated during the rehearsal process.

Continuing with his speech he announces that “Our director will be delayed as well as our choreographer for the next couple of days.” “But,” he continues “I would like to introduce their assistants that will be working very close with you during your stay here”.

The sounds of happy camp still ring in my ears.

Three people came forward and introduced themselves. I recognized two of them from my previous stint with ‘The Company’. These assistants would later prove to be the very backbone of our existence. They would also be the only part of the creative team to save these shows.

Stepping forward we are then introduced to the assistant director. I also remember him from my previous experience. He began to explain his theory on cast bonding.

After introductions theater games of trust would start. Run, jump, drop, roll, crawl, fall down, stand up, look into each other’s eyes, tell each other how glad you are to be here.

The minutes became hours. The sun began to set in the sky. Around and around the room we run. We look to each other but now fear and loathing enter our gazes. These theater mantras at first were said with joy, they later became ways to hold onto our minds and our individual selves. We become the assistant director’s puppets. Jump, we jump, roll, we roll, dance, we dance. Run, we run.

 Faster and faster we run.

We wander the room touching, hugging and laughing and this continues for days without stop. Until we began to mumble under our breaths “This Sucks.”

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 2 Rehearsal Part 3

Several members of the cast are standing near the vans as I approach.  I grind out my cigarette, flick it into the brush and summon up what I imagine to be a good “Company” voice. It is very important for me to fit in right now and be a team player.  I am surprised that I am working for the “Company” again, let alone doing it while in the Bahamas.

“Good Morning!” I blurt out. Typical greetings ring out in response. One of the chorus girls under her breath mutters “Child it is way too early for that.”

We climb aboard the vans and pull out of the parking lot, our driver looks the wrong way before pulling out into the road. Thankfully this time it’s ok, because nothing is coming in our direction. Driving out, we pass an old faded sign that’s stands guard at the front of our complex. Its white paint is peeling in sheets and one of the letters is hanging loose. Welcome to Guanahani village, it reads.

Everyone is clearly on their best behavior, the small talk is almost painful and the van is packed to capacity.  

The van pulls to the end of the road and we are forced into a roundabout.  The van circles round and round, everyone in the van is being pushed up against the walls.  No one is sure how to get out or where to go.  Our driver finally makes a decision and pulls out of the roundabout and takes off down the road. We are now heading back past our homes and The Guanahai Village sign passes us again.  The cast look at each other in the van but no one says a word.

Looking out the window, the area of the Bahamas we are in is nothing more than several beautiful homes with several shacks selling T-shirts and touristy stuff packed in between them. Palm trees line the streets and the sky is clear and an amazing blue color.

Happy and content is how I am now feeling.  Here’s to good times and new friends, I raise a toast in my head.

We finally reach our destination.  The van pulls up to a hotel with a circular drive. Stopping in front of the front doors the cast piles out. Everyone is telling stories and trying to top each other.  The laughter is deafening as we enter the lobby.

I look around and laugh the lobby and stifle a laugh.  They have the same decorator as we have at the condo, except this color palate is all white.

In one corner sits a Parrot in an ornate cage.  His squawks can be heard above the roar.  He is so excited that he is jumping up and down screeching and yelling “Hello, Hello!” to anyone who will listen.  The sign on his cage lets me know that his name is Pete.

The lobby is very busy. Tourists of all shapes and sizes are running everywhere.  We continue to dodge them and find ourselves walking down a long hallway and into a reception room.

to be continued..............

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 2 Rehearsal Part 2

I eat breakfast quickly, rinse out the bowl and jump into the shower. I haven’t heard a peep from my roommates, so I’m assuming that they still have not gotten up yet.

The water blasts out of the shower head and pushes me back.  It’s hot and powerful.  I close my eyes and drift. While I am standing in the shower I feel as if someone is standing there watching me.  I open my eyes and a shadow appears on the shower curtain.  “Hello?” I ask.  There is no answer, so I peek out from behind the curtain and no one is standing in the bathroom.  Closing the shower curtain, the shadow is no longer there.  “Must be my imagination”, I think to myself.

I get dressed and head back to the living room. My mind is racing in a thousand different directions this morning.  I need to make sure that I have everything that I need with me today.

The layout of the house is pretty basic.  It’s clean and cozy and sparsely decorated. In the living room two couches face each other.  They are separated by a round wicker table covered with a piece of glass. The prints on the couches scream early 80’s beach house. Everything is done in pinks and oranges. The television sits atop a piece of glass that is suspended between two wicker towers.

The living opens into the dining room. There is a long table surrounded by 6 chairs. The chairs are decorated to match the living room furniture. An oval mirror hangs behind the table bringing the whole look together. It is of course made out of wicker.

The television has not been turned off and I can hear the familiar sounds of Regis and Kathy Lee. One of my new roommates bounds down the stairs waving his hand in my direction. “Morning!” he shouts. He then busies himself in the kitchen getting breakfast.

I walk back into the dining room and open the curtains. The window looks out on the parking lot. There I can see three vans waiting to take us to rehearsal. I’m told that if no one is using these vans, we were allowed to take them on outings.  I am a little afraid to drive on the roads here; my first experience was a little harrowing.

Several cast members begin filing past the window on their way to the vans. I feel like a child on the first day of school. Dance clothes are replacing pencils and books. I grab my coat and head out the door.

to be continued.......

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 2 Rehearsal Part 1

The next morning the alarm clock sounds and pulls me out of a restless sleep. All in total I figure that I got about 4 hours of sleep.  I guess I was nervous about what today was going to bring. 

The sun is starting to rise and move across the wall of my room. Slowly I am becoming familiar with my surroundings and I remember that I am in the Bahamas. I squint my eyes and look at the clock. Its electronic numbers tell me that it’s 6 am.  I love the mornings and find that’s when I am at my best.

I swing my legs out of bed and walk over to my suitcases that lay open and unpacked. I begin to riffle through my bag in search of rehearsal clothes. I pull out my best dance wear and throw it into my dance bag.

I pad out into the hall and stop in the bathroom on my way to the first floor. The mirror reflects the image of my morning face, my hair is standing up in all different directions and my eyes are bloodshot. “Hot.” I say out loud to no one.

I stumble down the stairs letting the muscles in my legs find their strength. Still in my pajamas I grab the remote and turn on the television.  I mindlessly begin searching for news from America. Katie Coiric’s familiar face greets me. I walk away from her and into the kitchen.

There is a counter in the middle of the wall that separates the kitchen and the dining room. The entire house is decorated in an early “Golden Girls” and I feel that I am living in sunny Florida.

I search the cabinets and find a toaster, place two slices of bread inside and wander back into the living room. I open the drapes that cover the sliding glass door. The door slides open and I walk into a fenced in backyard. Geckos look back at me with their wide eyes, throats expanding.

I look around at my surroundings, I feel a little like an alien seeing a foreign planet for the first time. The air is warm and the rising sun does little to change the temperature. In the distance I can hear the crash of waves on unseen beach.

I smoke a quick cigarette and it’s time to get to business.  I grip the frame of the door and begin my ballet barre,(this is a practice that I get into for my remainder with this company.) Thoughts moved through my mind while I worked through various plies. “What would today bring?” I ask myself. I would have to really be on my toes and pay extra attention to my surroundings. I began to soothe my nerves when the smell of burning toast pulls me back into reality.

to be continued.......

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 8

I enter the house and am a little surprised to find someone is sitting in the living room. “Hello!” he yells adding a little wave with his hand. “You must be one of my new roommates” he adds.  With this he jumps up and runs over to me, thrusting out his hand he grabs my hand and shakes it vigorously.  I detect a British accent. “I’m going for a swim, it’s ghastly hot and I’ve already been here for two days.” “Would you like to join me?”

“No thanks”, I say “I just flew in and would like a couple minutes to unwind.”

“Your loss” he says to me.  “I’ve already taken the bedroom at the top of the stairs; we have two more that you can choose from.”

He continues talking and telling me all about his audition and how he got here. He asks me if I had fun lying to the Bahamian Government while going through immigration.  While he is talking, I begin to realize that he was promised the same roles as I was.  Before I can respond to this he is out the door and on his way to the beach.

I am stunned. “Don’t let it bother you, It will all work out” I say to myself.  I walk up to the second floor of the condo and find a room that looks like no one is living in it.  I drop my bags and open the blinds. Looking out I realize that the room doesn’t face the beach. As a matter of fact I later find out that none of the rooms do.  I quickly stop by the bathroom and head back down to the main floor.  There I find a card with my name on it sitting on the entry table.  It’s an invitation to a pizza party/get to know the rest of the cast by the pool this very night.

With that I head out the front door to smoke and to check out the property.  My unit is about one of thirty.  The condos are surrounded by a fence; a cement walkway in the front courtyard leads to everyone’s front door.  The landscaping is beautiful, the tree and flowers create a tropical paradise.  I stay on the path following it to an outdoor bar that sits poolside.  From the bar I can see the ocean.  Actually the property boarders the beach and is separated by a retaining wall.  I sit in a lounge chair and close my eyes.  I can hear the waves lapping at the shore.  According to the thermometer nailed to the nearest palm tree, it is a beautiful 86 degrees outside.

That night I change my clothes and head to the pool. I meet the entire cast poolside and my head begins to swim with all the names. Some of the cast I recognize from New York and Florida. But for others this is my first time meeting them.

The party is a lot of fun and everyone is on their best behavior. That night after the party I go into the kitchen of the condo. I realize that I never got pizza because they ran out. I open the fridge. The Company put some food in there to get us through until we get a chance to shop. I grab an apple and walk up the stairs to my room.  Once there I peel off my clothes and swing my legs into bed. It’s late September and a breeze is blowing through the open window.

“Thank you God” I whisper and fall asleep.

to be continued.......

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 7

Once at the airport, I board a plane bound for the Bahamas.  I make a mental note to myself about which bag contains my suntan lotion.  I am sure that I will be using it a lot.

The plane flies first to Florida and there I have to switch to a plane they call an “Island Hopper.  Once I land in Florida I am directed by the crew to walk out on to the tarmac.  A balmy Florida breeze is blowing; I inhale and feel the sun on my face.

It’s a quick flight to the Bahamas and the plane lands in less than an hour.  I get off and quickly walk into the airport.  The airport in the Bahamas is lit by florescent lights and a steel band is playing “Living in America.”  There are no lines, no crowds and no happy women dressed in Bahamian garb welcoming us to the Bahamas.

At the gate I am met by Company Casting.  He is wearing a loud white and blue Hawaiian shirt with a straw hat.  He extends his hand and tells me that I have to go through Immigration before I can be taken to the hotel.  He asks me how my trip was and as we walk a couple of steps he whispers to me “Make sure you tell them that you are here as a tourist, whatever you do don’t mention that you are here to work!”  With that he takes me by the elbow and steers me towards an office.  My blood begins to freeze.

Being an Actor/Dancer we lie on a daily basis but not to Government officials and especially not Bahamian Government officials.  A large man dressed in green fatigues gestures for me to sit in a chair, he has a gun strapped to his waist, an unlit cigar in his mouth.  The air is dry and the air conditioner in his window sits silent.  I can feel a bead of sweat drip down my neck and onto my collar.

I am a rotten liar and expect them to see through everything that I say.  I am so nervous as I talk to Immigration that I will say anything to get through this.  I stammer and get caught on my words. Several times the man raises and eyebrow and looks over his glasses at me.  Instead of being arrested, I pass with flying colors and walk into the sunlight of the Island.

A friend of mine and fellow dancer who also got this job is there to greet me and drive me to my new home.  He has volunteered his services to get the performers to the right place and acclimated to their new homes.  I board the waiting van and he pulls out into the wrong side of the road. My friend screams as a car narrowly misses us.  Now I feel sick.  The Bahamas used to be under British rule so they drive on the left side of the road.  We laugh as he struggles to get in the correct lane.

Zipping through the Bahamas we pass many resorts that are very plush and have swimming pools.  I can see happy tourists standing around the hotels but most of the trip takes through the poorest of the poor. Chickens wander the street and a half naked child raises a cup to the car window at a stop light.

We enter a parking lot several miles from the airport; this is to be my new home.  I walk through a rickety wooden door that enters onto a patio it squeaks when I push it open.  My condo has white stucco walls on the outside and lizards run around my feet.  Somewhere an animal makes a noise that I have never heard, a cross between a growl and a scream.

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 6

I call my parents and my Mom's first question is about insurance, do I get any?   I will win the Noble Peace Prize and my Mom will want to know if I get Health Insurance with it.

I go through my phone book and call all my friends from A-Z. I begin to make all sorts of plans. I have a lot to do and not much time to do it in.

I call The Company Casting Director and I am told that I will have the lead Villain roles in all three shows.  The shows are TBD. I am so excited.  The Company Casting Director begins to go into various details about my new fabulous job.

What follows for the next weeks are several phone calls with more details about my new job.  I’m told that it’s a contract of un-believable fortunes. Several perks that include but are not limited to: Broadway Auditions being held for us while we are in rehearsals, dance teachers being flown in so we can keep our technique up to a certain level and while we live in the Bahamas we will all have our own bedrooms facing the beach .

 During rehearsals I will have to take sword fighting lessons from one of Broadway’s best Fight Directors.

I was once told that if something sounds too good to be true it usually is.

Questions don’t usually come fast when you are offered a job.  I asked if Actors Equity would be involved.  I was told that because we will be so far from American soil we will be out of their jurisdiction but we will be following all their rules because the cast are all Equity performers.

The day to leave has finally arrived.  I have sublet out my apartment, changed over all the bills, forwarded my calls, bid my new agent farewell and grab a taxi to the airport.

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 5

I read from the script and even get laughter from the table.  “That was great” says the Director still laughing.

Once again I am sent in the hall to wait.  This time when I am called into the room, they take a Polaroid of me and take my measurements.  Then I am sent on my way.

Two days pass and I come home to find the light on my answering machine blinking.  I nervously push the button. The voice on the machine is from Casting offering me the job.

I grab one of the cats and begin to swirl around the room. “Soon you’ll be able to eat.” I say to the cat.  (In reality, the animals would always eat before me if I had no food).  I am told that a contract will arrive via Federal Express. I go to my crappy job and give notice. “So long suckers!” I say to everyone on my way out.  “See you in three months,” says my boss with a wave.

Start time for the contract comes and goes and my phone calls give me several answers from “We aren’t finished casting yet,” to “We are a little bit behind.”

I have given my job notice, bid all my friends goodbye and I am now forced to sit in my apartment and stare at the television, hungry.

Various commercials from the Company are on the TV, with lots of smiling people having a glorious vacation. “Fuck you!” I scream at the set.

A lot of time passes and I come home to find the answering machine blinking again. This time it’s the Casting Director asking me to come in for a call-back. They want me to read for a Prince Charming character.

“Are they out of their minds?” I wonder out loud.

I arrive back at the audition center on the date that I am asked to be there.  I am handed a script that describes the character that I am to read for as a Nasty Villain.  I was given the wrong information by Casting; they don’t see me as a “Prince Charming” either.

Once again during my reading they are laughing out loud.  Inside my stomach is churning bile.

The Casting Director comes up while I am in the hall and offers me the job again.  “Why aren’t you excited?” asks Casting.  “I will be when the contract arrives” I hiss.

On my walk home I curse them under my breath. In New York it’s quite common to talk out loud to yourself  but then the tourists point and take your picture.

Two weeks later while I am sitting in my apartment staring at the walls and the door buzzer goes off.  My dog jumps up and rushes to my defense.  He will hear a squirrel opening a nut and Central Park ten blocks away and bark until he is hoarse.  So now I am yelling into the intercom to be heard. “Who is it?” I scream

“Federal Express” says the unseen caller.

I race down the five flights of stairs to greet the delivery man. In his arms is a thick package.  I sign for it and rip it open.

It’s my contract and I read as fast as I can. Under the part about what role’s it says to be determined.  I rush back up the stairs and back into my apartment.  Once again I dance with the cat.

to be continued................

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 4

The Casting Director goes through a long list of boys names and finishes with “Geoffrey Doig-Marx, please stay.“ “The rest thank you very much”

I am asked to stay with about twenty boys from the first group of fifty.  “You will dance some more and then sing”, says the Director standing up facing us.  I turn and gather up my stuff and walk back into the hallway.  The next group is waiting to come in, they scan our eyes to see how the combination went.  “Are you staying?” a friend asks, all the boys in line are looking at me.  “I am!” I answer and continue walking.

I run down the stairs and out the front door of the studios.  I hit the street with my cigarette already in my lips.  I know that I may have many more hours before I will have to dance again, I can probably smoke a pack in that time.

Dancers who were cut begin to leave.  I say my goodbyes blowing smoke in the air as they pass.  “Good luck” they respond.

I smoke close to five cigarettes before I get buzzed back into the building and run up the stairs.  I wander around ‘The holding room’ saying my hello’s to the various survivors.

Hours pass as group after group enters the room.  I lay on my back with my feet in the air, propped on a wall.

I’m called back into the room with the rest of the people who have been asked to stay.  We learn several more combinations and dance late into the afternoon.  I get to stay after several cuts and now I’m sent back into the hall, it’s my turn to sing.

I can tell you that most people in our business spend their time training as either a dancer, actor or singer.  We all dabble in the various different forms of our art but we tend to excel in one form.  Singing has always brought a certain amount of fear into my heart.  I love to do it but I don’t count it as my foray.  It could be that people have told me that my singing sucks, it tends to stay in your head.

I will be third to sing and my stomach is lurching in my body.  I walk to the drinking fountain and swallow several gulps of water.  I look out the window and wish that I had been asked to swallow swords instead of being asked to sing.

The second person enters the room and I know that I am next.  My mind races as I look over my music.  “Act the song” my meddling brain yells.

“Next!” yells someone from inside the room.  I look around and realize that it’s me they are talking to.  I enter the room, look at the table where they are all sitting.  I smile and head to the piano.

I place my music on the piano and go over the tempo with the pianist.  I slowly walk to the center of the room.  The table is looking at me, the Director is absently tapping his pencil on the table.  I can hear the thump, thump, thump as the eraser hits.

I tell them what song I will be singing, they smile back with blank looks on their faces.  I nod my head and the piano comes to life.  I open my mouth and I see the people at the table put their hands up to their ears.  Blood begins to run down their cheeks, their mouths are twisted in agony.  I continue singing.  The table is writhing in pain.  I keep on singing.  I finish and just as the image of them being tortured comes, it goes.

They actually look pleasant and happy.  “Do you have anything else?” asks the Director.  I sing two more songs.

“Thank you”, says the collective table.  “Could you wait in the hall until were done hearing everyone?” “Of course” I say.  I head out the door as they call in the next boy.  I quickly run back down the stairs and light up another cigarette.

Another two hours pass and we are asked to come back in.  We are handed sides of the script and sent back into the hall.  This is one of my favorite things to do.  I am a quick study and better at remembering lines. I immediately look for the truth and the jokes.

to be continued...........

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 3

I recognize almost everyone in my group from other auditions; we are the first fifty to go into the room.  The room is tiny and they squeezing us in.  The room quickly becomes cramped and hot.  We throw our dance bags to the side.  As usual there is a long table set up at the front of the room.  Sitting behind it is the Casting Director.  I have auditioned for him a million times and he has only hired me twice before.

Next to him sits the Choreographer.  He has charming good looks and a winning smile, he reminds me of a young Alec Baldwin.  I instantly find him attractive.  “He was in Cats” someone whispers to me.  Seated to his left, is his assistant, a dancer that I knew when I used to work for this company before.  He nods at me and smiles.

Sitting in the center of the table is the Director.  He squints through thick glasses, holding a paper inches from his face.  I think that he is reading.  Rumor has it that pyrotechnics once exploded in his face causing a vision problem and to make up for that they gave him this show.

On the wall behind the table is a giant mirror.  All the boys look into it and we quickly arrange our dance clothes and make sure that our hair look’s just right.

The Director’s the first to speak.  “I want to thank everyone for coming to this audition” he starts with.  “This is a new venture for the Company and we are looking for very specific things.”  He looks at the dancers his eyes are magnified.  I’m reminded of Mr. Magoo

“Looking for very specific things, aren’t they always,” someone mutters.  “With that in mind let’s get started” finishes the Director.

The Choreographer walks from behind the table and begins teaching a long and involved combination.  I make sure to pay close attention to the first eight counts.  I know that I am not a quick study and have a tendency to drift.  My ballet teacher jokes often that I’m dyslexic.

The combination continues and we are now at ten counts of eight. “This is fucking ridiculous” someone hisses.

I twist, turn, jump, and slide to the floor.  I raise my hand up in the air because I am not exactly sure how to get up, that’s the part he forgot to teach.

The Casting Director comes forward and starts yelling out directions.  We are told to go to the sides of the room away from the mirror and then we will be called out in groups of four.  I always think that when I’m dancing in a group that all eyes are on me.  I believe that everyone feels that way.  Actually while people are dancing the combination your brain is scrambling to retain what it has learned.

I watch the first group to see if they might have learned something different then I did. I have a couple more groups to decide if I need to change something.

The first group finishes and the Director yells out “Thank you.”

The next group of four is called onto the floor and they dance with so much energy, we are all hungry for a job.  My bladder begins to tell my brain that it needs to be relieved.  I let the combination run through my head over and over.

The group is finished and the third group is off and running.  My stomach growls and my bladder speaks to me again.

The third group finishes and I hear my name being called. I run onto the floor and flash a smile.  We are staggered with two boys in the front and I am in the back.  We get a count in from the Choreographer “5,6,7,8!” he screams.

My body jumps into motion.  Listen to the music my brain tells my body.  I begin to glide and my feet move at a great speed beneath me. I can hear my breathing and my heart has doubled its pace. Jumping higher and higher, I finish and move downstage.  Do it again the Choreographer screams.  We now get to do it a second time and we are asked to switch lines.  Front to back and back to front.

5,6,7,8 the Assistant to the Choreographer screams.  This time I am so sure of every step that I take and my body relaxes into the movement.  I finish, hold my spot and wait to be sent to the side of the room.

I run back into the group of waiting boy while the next group hits the floor. “Nice job,” someone says and taps my butt.

My dancing becomes a blur in my mind, was it all right? Did I forget anything?  Did I stay on the music?

I am anxious for this group to finish dancing.  I look at the clock on the wall and the second hand seems to have slowed down.  I feel that I can hear the gears in the clock grinding as it moves the hands around the clock.

Group after group hits the floor and works hard to ‘sell’ the combination.  I can’t wait to be finished.  I will either stay or I will go no hard feelings.

Sweat is now dripping off the group in the center of the floor as they move to the music.  Group after group is dancing; some people lose their nerve and forget the combination while others seem to outshine all of us.  I begin to question my talent again. “You should have stayed home!” my brain screams at me.

The dancers all finish and we stand to the side of the room. “Talk among yourself”, says Casting.

We create a bullshit dialogue about the weather or something else just as useless.  “Will the following people please stay”, says Casting

You can feel the tension in the air and our collective breathing ceases.  Name after name is being called out by Casting. Did I just hear my name?  No, not yet.  “You suck!” my brain screams again………………

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 2

This audition was for what I like to refer as the “Company”.  Could I do it? Could my pride be swallowed? Did I really need money that much?  My bank account was definitely telling my brain to go to the audition.  It was one of the only upcoming shows listed in the paper.  It did mention that it was a new show and that a Broadway name would be writing the music.  I would have to think about it.  I could barely remember how bad it was the last time I worked for them.  Was it really as awful as I remembered it?  It seemed like a lifetime ago that I had worked for them.  Did I blow my experience out of proportion?  I remember the weather, the apartment and all the friends I had made.  I must have forgotten all of that when I told my stories of the crappy treatment that we received.

My head began to swim.  I sat down on someone’s front stoop and took out a cigarette.  I lit and watched the smoke as it danced around my head.  It would be three weeks until the audition and I would have plenty of time to either talk myself out of it or go and try to get the job.  “Oh well”, I told myself “I have plenty of time to figure things out”.

Unfortunately, time in New York City goes by in the blink of an eye.  Three weeks later I find myself in the waiting room of a New Dance Group on 47^th street.  I was dressed as dancers do in that day; I was wearing the obligatory black.  Black turtle neck leotard, black jazz pants and black jazz sneakers.  I had three songs prepared and a monologue just in case they needed it.  I spent some time in LA and Vegas.  I was amazed at how people dress for auditions out there.  In LA they look like they just put their street clothes on and happened to walk into an audition.  In Vegas they wore very little.  Come to think of it, my costume when I worked in Vegas had two looks, no shirt and vest.

I look around the room and realize just how small this city actually is.  I know all the boys waiting with me.  Currently, they have us packed in a tiny little holding room.  Boys are everywhere.  There are boys going through plie’s while holding on to the piano, others swapping phone numbers and still others hugging and kissing.  It is a literal sea of boys all waiting to be called into the room to audition.  “Jesus”, I think to myself “Are there no other jobs right now?”  It seems like all the boys in New York City are here, and we are all competing for the same job.

I stopped warming my body up awhile ago.  I can only stretch so much before an audition.  It then becomes a game of psych out, where you try a few different things to make others double judge their abilities.  It’s the oldest trick in the book and it always works.  You can move off in a corner and not talk with anyone; it puts people ill at ease.  It looks as if you know something that the rest don’t.  Actually, I always get nervous before an audition.  I’m a wreck on the way there.  Once I’m there I still a wreck until I enter the room then I feel a lot better.  I guess it’s because I then know what’s going on.  Or at least have a slight handle on it.

I began to let my mind drift and that about what I would be doing the rest of the day.  I am not very focused before this audition.  I think it’s because that no matter what you know that’s not what it’s about.  It boils down to who you know.  I was sure that I would know a handful of people in the room and I’m sure a couple people in the room would know me.  Did they like me?  Was I nice?  Oh crap, now I’m getting more nervous.

The “Company” likes to use the same people over and over again.  One time they ran an ad looking for people who had the “Company” look.  What does that mean?  Anyway it got them into a little bit of trouble, but it was fun hearing them explain what they meant by that.

Sitting here I am reminded of the Tracey Ullman skit where she can actually fly.  She’s at an audition for Peter Pan but she just doesn’t have that right something the casting director is looking for.  Tracey is flying around the room and the whole audition panel feels that she’s missing something.

I am so busy daydreaming that I don’t hear my name being called by the casting director’s assistant.  Now everyone is in panic mode.  I look around and see people scrambling to gather up their dance bags and to get into a single file line.  I jump off the floor that I’ve been lying on and grab my bag.  I’m number fifteen and I get into my proper spot between numbers fourteen and sixteen and march into the hallway.

to be continued...........

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 1

I went to my local newsstand every Thursday to pick up the latest copy of Backstage.  Backstage is the local trade paper for the entertainment business.  Back in the day it was one of the only vital link’s to auditions and every other aspect of our business.  Tucked in amongst the ads it has listings for voice teachers, dance classes and Drama Classes.  If you are lucky and it is a busy audition week every page will be crammed full of job listings for upcoming shows or showcases.

This paper and a dream can help your career go from chorus dancer to star overnight.

It was best to pick it up first thing in the morning.  We used to joke that that this was when the auditions were fresh and best for picking.  Unfortunately at my newsstand there was always a line and sometimes they would run out.  That was one of the down sides of living in an artist neighborhood.

 Rumor had it that the newsstand on Astor Place got Backstage Magazine before anyone else in Manhattan did. Rumor also had it that their line was longer than any other newsstands as well.

I let my eyes run over the racks of magazines and newspapers.  This stand carries everything from porno magazines to Better Homes and gardens.  Every inch of the overcrowded and dusty shelves is packed with crap. Kathy Lee Gifford’s face is splashed across at least three periodicals.  Pushing her image to the side I find what I am looking for.

Rummaging in my pocket I throw a crumpled five dollar bill on the counter.  Scoop up my change and walk up the street.  I can’t wait and begin thumbing through the various listings when I come across it.  It seems like such an innocent little advert at the time.  The headline listing jumps right out at me.

Wanted Seasoned Performers for an Established Company.  Skimming the ad, all the perks are in my favor.  I was perfect for the job until I reached the last part of the ad.

to be continued.........

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Once Upon a Time- Pandoras Box Part 1

Once upon a time…or that’s how all fairy tales start or should start. 

Unfortunately, this isn’t a Fairy Tale but a true tale that takes place in a Magical World… or should have take place in a magical world, at least that’s what the ads promised.

I promise that by once we get to the middle of the tale, you will understand completely what I am hinting at.

So, lets start again. Once upon a time … I needed a job. I am a dancer. That’s what I tell everyone. I try to work steady as a dancer but sometimes I have to work as a waiter, or front desk clerk or an un-knowing coke dealer but that’s another story.

I am a dancer.  I spent the youth of my life vigorously taking class, starving, living in strange places, but dreaming of some day being on Broadway.  Ah Broadway, Isn’t that the end all? Sadly, it is what validates us in the eyes of the world as being a true dancer. Strangers would sit through me spouting my list of credits, only to ask “Ever been on Broadway?”

I had work as a dancer in ballet companies, modern and Jazz Companies and once danced dressed as a lobster on a seafood bar… You have to pay the bills.

Lately I was having a steady stream of good luck but I am quickly coming up to the end of that. I had several dance jobs in a row. I could be found in exotic cities and strange little towns. Step, Kick, Kick, Leap, Kick, Touch, Again. Or you could find me dressed as a Transvestite trying to avoid returning to outer space.

I was having a blast. I was Learning to speak German, French, Dutch and Swedish. That way I could converse and order off the menu. I was working in the European cities that Mozart had travelled through. I was busy seeing all of These United States. I spent three years of my life just traveling on a bus, that doesn’t count performing on various tours, just taking the bus.

Life on the road can be lonely and boring, but that’s the way it is. Sadly, I was very lonely, as I would often find myself alone at the end of the day.

Being out of town so much I had to have relationships that were all long distance.  In the beginning, sleeping with other cast members in the show is fun but it usually ends up causing more problems than it’s worth. If you brake up you find that you have to ignore each other on the bus.

That’s why, one day while I was touring through Germany, I made a vow to myself that I would settle down in one place for at least a year.

It was clear, my path and technique were secure, I wanted to get a Broadway Show! So my plan to get to Broadway was to work and build an extensive resume.  

I would go every audition that I could find in Backstage. Who knows? My philosophy is that “It is better to have to turn down a job, than to never be offered a job.” 

My current job is about to end and I have nothing on the horizon to look forward to. I am close to spending all the money that I had saved from all my previous work, but as I have said, I am a dancer and I live in New York City.

To be continued………

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.