To Act or Not To Act

Performance Night

Seven o'clock Saturday came around quicker than anyone had expected. The audience streamed into their seats, blissfully unaware of the carnage hidden by the draping red curtains.

The props manager was nearly panicking as he rushed into the wing where the drivers had been told to meet. "Who the fuck took the swords?" His voice was hushed, but had an urgency to it that betrayed his anger as he addressed the cast. "If it's not your prop, you don't touch it!"

Max shrugged. "I dunno. I didn't take it."

The prop manager sighed. "Charles, Mick? They're your props. Did you move them?"

"No," Charles replied and looked at Mick, who shook his head.

"Well that's fucking fantastic," the prop manager said, throwing his hands up in frustration. "It's curtains in what? Ten minutes?"

"Seven," George said.

"Perfect. Great! No, this is good. I'll just send Henry to the fucking sword store and maybe he can find something before the end of the show." The prop manager rubbed his eyes. "Henry," he said in a calmer voice to his assistant, "Could you see if ASDA has anything that might work?"

The teen gulped. "I can check," he replied nervously.

"Thank you. At least someone can do his job around here." The manager stormed off to the green room, presumably to make sure no other props had gone missing.

"Well," Masi, standing up from where he'd been seated at the back of the wing. "I hope you all are ready to go on. Quite frankly I'm surprised you're all here and in costume on time." He gave a tight-lipped smile to the drivers. "Break a leg, guys. Don't break character, and try, for the love of God, please try to get this at least somewhat right. I'll be watching from the wings and try to help if I can."

And then the show started. Masi gave a quick address to the audience-- no phones, no filming, and thank you for coming-- and the curtain rose.

The first scene was fine. The marshalls did a good job as guards just like they had in rehearsals, and Pierre said his lines halfway convincingly. By the time they left the stage at the end of the scene, the audience seemed to be enjoying themselves.

The first sign of trouble arose when Max walked on stage missing his crown. "Good day, citizens of Denmark," he cried. "Welcome to... my coronation," he finished, realizing he wasn't wearing the most important part of his costume.

Masi balled his fists and snatched the crown off the prop table. "Here," he whispered to Charles. "You're going on next. Bring this to him." He shoved it into Charles' arms.

On stage, Laertes was asking for Claudius' permission to return to France. That was Hamlet's cue to enter, so Charles stepped on stage right, crown clutched awkwardly in his hand.

Max noticed him right away. "And our dear cousin and son Hamlet," he said, somehow on-script.

"Yes," Charles replied, off-script. "That's me. I also have your crown, my lord." He gave a tiny half-bow and presented the crown to Max.

Max took it and placed it on his head before continuing. "Are you still so upset about your father's death?"

"Of course I am," Charles replied. "He was my father, not merely pretending to be through the act of marrying my mother." He put his hands on his hips and pouted.

In the wings George exchanged a look with Lance. Six pages into the show and they'd already lost the plot. Hamlet was being too angsty too soon. Max may not have said the right words, but he at least was tonally consistent with the story. Charles was just going in a completely different direction. This was making for a truly horrendous play.