Bridget P. Haile ’11 hurries toward the dressing room downstairs, her curled hair bobbing and her long white maiden’s dress bustling underneath her. As she walks, she looks like the perfect anachronism, a remnant of another era—she’s completely unconnected to the old Agassiz Theater around her, existing somewhere in between the character she plays and her role in the real world. That is, until she almost bumps into an admissions employee in the hallway. “That’s the problem with sharing a theater with the admissions office,” she says.
In her real life she’s the president of the Harvard-Radcliffe Gilbert and Sullivan Players (referred to as simply G&S by members and fans), a staple group in the theater scene here at Harvard. Although the Hasty Pudding tends to steal the spotlight in the spring, the Gilbert and Sullivan Players are one of the foremost G&S troupes in New England, dedicating themselves to cycling through the comic-operas in the Gilbert and Sullivan canon. This spring, the Players are putting on a production of “The Pirates of Penzance,” a wild show of love and swashbucklery first performed in 1879.
IN THE DRESSING ROOM
It’s the day before opening night, and as Haile drifts into the dressing room, she is greeted by a motley crowd of actors. The dressing rooms are inconspicuously hidden on the bottom floor of the Agassiz House, featuring countless mirrors all bordered by large white bulbs. Some cast members are busily changing into pirate-themed clothing while others dab make-up on their faces. All take turns spontaneously singing.
Haile looks to her left and sees temporary pirate tattoos being applied to cast-members’ arms: “Oh my God, that looks so good!” An actor in the background wonders aloud, “Is someone gonna get a penis tattoo?” Another person shouts, “I volunteer!” Haile in her white maiden’s dress asks, “Can I get a penis tattoo too?”
Benjamin J. Nelson ’11, another cast member and a member of the G&S Board of Directors, walks into the room in a bright yellow overcoat. Even in a room full of pirates, he fits right in. He and Haile hug. “We’re practically married,” he admits. That they’ve been working together for nearly two years is evident; their interactions are as effortless as they are entertaining.
Haile wastes no time dabbing Nelson’s face with make-up, looking efficient but leisurely. As the women change indiscreetly in front of the men, a cast member on the other side of the room jokes, “No one gets naked until the second scene.”
The cast continues rushing around, trying to get everyone into costume, and yet no one seems anxious. Thomas C. Wilhoit ’13 asks, “What do you guys think of my eyeliner?” “You look like Adam Lambert,” says Nelson to cries of approval from the rest of the dressing room.
BACKSTAGE
Nelson and Haile make their way backstage to do one final rehearsal. The room is a mess. The smell of fresh paint envelops the entire space, and the cluttered banging of stage producers stands in stark contrast to the warm-up trills produced by the cast. After some time, Haile and Nelson begin singing in perfect unison, eventually falling back into individual parts. As their voices begin to encompass the room, producer Megan M. Savage ’10 says, “The show is doing great. These are a hectic few days, but everything is coming together so well.”
“I produced for the first time last semester and I found that, as someone who has always been a cast member, the most surprising thing when you’re producing is how little the cast has to do with it,” says Haile after the warm-up.
“You’re just thinking, ‘Yeah, I’m sure the cast will go out there and do something or other,’” says Sarah J. Libenson ’10, the stage director. “But your concerns are more along the lines of: will the set get built, will it get painted, will the tickets get sold, where will we get the costumes, will the videographer come on time. All sorts of ridiculous little things.”
Nobody seems too nervous. “We’ve been rehearsing since about February,” says Nelson. “I feel really good about how things are coming together; this is my sixth consecutive show and this one definitely has come together. We did runs last week that were pretty good.”
But not everything always goes according to plan. Haile points at the corner of the dressing room ceiling, which began peeling off during a performance last year. “I started freaking out, yelling at anyone who was around, ‘Help! The ceiling! It fell down!’ I ran down to the house manager and was like, ‘The house needs managing!’” she remembers. “This was also the same day the admissions office decided to host a 1:30 p.m. info session in the theater before our 2 p.m. show.” Luckily the ceiling crisis was contained to the dressing room.
Another snafu last year wasn’t so easy to cover up. During a scene of Haile’s character’s execution, the mood-setting fog machine set off a fire alarm. “Suddenly all of the lights go on, and we all just froze,” she says in a fit of laughter.
Nelson isn’t so worried about any mishaps that might happen during the show. “The most stressful part is learning my lines,” he says. ”I’m atrocious at learning lines. The music is fine—that just happens—but Gilbert and Sullivan lines are all from the 1870s, so they’re a little bit convoluted.” But this is just Nelson being modest; by opening night, the lines are already learned, the ceiling is in place, and everyone’s in costume, waiting for an audience.
On the night of the show, the clutter backstage has disappeared, the scent of paint faded away. If there had been any chaos the day before, it’s all out of sight and out of mind tonight. As the lights dim and the show begins, Haile takes her place in a black dress for the first act. On the other side of the curtain, the audience waits to see the end product, indifferent to rehearsals and warm-ups: Haile and her cohorts singing in the old Agassiz Theater.
