ROBIN HOOD -- A PANTOMIME IN DUBAI
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| Dubai Drama Group Poster for ROBIN HOOD, December 1991 |
In the summer of 1990, I was invited to join the Dubai Drama Group. This didn't come a moment too soon. I needed something to do, besides going to pubs, parties and balls. The Dubai Drama Group
was a blessing in easily recognizable disguise.
At the auditions, it was suggested I try out for the lead role of Robin Hood. What? No way! I kinda wanted to be Maid Marian but she had a solo to sing. I could carry a tune in bucket, but honestly, the bucket was probably the best place for it. I wanted a small role, just not the back-end of a panto cow...
I was cast as Derek - a merry man - a small "but
significant" role. I was happy as
long as I got to frolic about in green tights and jaunty jerkin! I had ten proper lines, and in one scene, I had six words, all of which were, "Well?" I was in all the Sherwood Forest scenes
and was surprised how difficult it was to be on stage when you have nothing to
say. I tended to face the audience with
my arms limp at my side, an insipid smile on my silly face. To combat this, I developed some facial expressions and practiced, "How not to Stand Around like a Gumby" at home.
At the last minute, a dance number was added: lots of thigh slapping and stepping on
and off logs, all to the tune of the Gary Glitter hit, "Do you wanna be
in my gang, my gang, d'ya wanna be in my gang, oh yeah!" A less Glittery, more miserable gang of Merry
Men, you would never wish to meet.
By dress rehearsal, I still didn't know the dance routine and
had no idea where to make my first entrance. We had a full house made up of kids from Al Noor and Asseef Schools
for the mentally handicapped. They got a free show; we got a appreciative audience, who chattered throughout and laughed at everything, whether funny or not.
Opening night was more frightening than having a machine-gun
held to my head or hiding from the Libyan Morality Police. I didn't dare eat; I'd already lost my lunch from
both ends. I stared longingly at the exit, and thought: "I could leave now. No
one would miss me, my ten lines, my six 'wells.' I don't want to be an actress; I want
to be a secretary." I heard,
"Places!" and broke into a cold sweat, a regular theatrical occurrence in years to come. I went into a kind-of
sickly trance. Then the lights went down, I took a deep breath, and stepped forward
along with the other merry men. I was completely blinded by the lights, exactly as I'd heard would happen. No worries--I didn't want to
see the audience anyway. However, after a short while, they began to emerge from the
gloom. Frozen by stage fright, I
couldn't remember a single instruction. Even my ears had stage fright; I couldn't hear anything. It's possible that I didn't say my lines. Somehow I managed to get off stage.
Our next scene: the song and dance number. Please kill me now, I thought. Our log was set stage right, ready for us to pick up as we went on stage, but no one told
me that the log had been painted black since dress rehearsal and in the
black-out, I couldn't see it. I somehow fell right
over it and onto my hands and knees. There was a lot of scrambling in the dark during which I lost my sense of direction
altogether. I kept reaching for the hand
holes on the log but it wasn't until I hit a wall that I realized the log had
gone. As the lights went up, I was still messing about in the wings when I heard my stage gang begin the song: I'd missed an entrance
in my very first show. I ran to join the routine but was so discombobulated, I never quite got into
rhythm. It was actor's nightmare, like
being naked on stage or learning lines for the wrong show. I hated myself; I knew the audience hated me
too. They were as quiet as church mice
and it was all my fault. I just wanted
to die.
It did get better (it had to, didn't it?) and then the
ad-libbing started, which was all very well for the seasoned panto peeps, but
mortifying for me. Every time a fellow
actor changed a line, even if it wasn't my cue, I'd stand there with my mouth
agape, transfixed with horror. My mind
would go completely blank. Nothing new
or extra was available to me once I was out on stage.
I never lost the stage fright but it eased off once we
mastered the dance, for which we got resounding cheers by closing night. Also by closing, I'd mastered a different way
of delivering each of my "wells" (in fact, I'd added three more) and they were making people
laugh. This made me truly happy! Word on the street was that ROBIN HOOD was the group's "best
panto ever" so I was proud to have been a part of it: my very first show.
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| The Cast List |
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| The Program Cover |
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