Mental Flotsam, Mental Jetsam

Because the only thing that beats going crazy is going crazy with somebody else

Monday, December 05, 2005

Still Dead, Marley? Yep. Just Checkin'.

A Christmas Carol opened this weekend at the Cramer Center. Good crowds abounding, with children squealing at the arrival of Marley’s Ghost.

Okay, on our actor playing Marley’s Ghost: Marcus rocks. I mean he freaking rocks. I get to see him lumber on to stage every show, chains rattling (where do you think the Hellraiser writer got the idea?), blue in the face, shocked white hair, powder flying off him with every thundering step—and then I turn tail and scoot out the door. Charles Dickens is too scared of his own figment to hang around.

And this is no slight old man, neither. Our Marley’s Ghost is a big, barrel-chested guy that looks like he could grab Scrooge by the jugular any time he wants to, and smack the curmudgeon right out of him.

And that’s before he even opens his mouth. At particular moments in his scene, when Scrooge gets lippy; Marcus lets loose with a howl that would send Banshees running back to primary school for another round of classes in Death-Wail 101. And he does this in front of children.

On any given night, if any one thing is a lock that will certainly cause people to jump out of their skins, it’s Marley’s Ghost. And it’s Marcus. Freaking Marcus.

Just wanted to put that out there.

You know what’s fun? Putting on a black robe the size of a king-sized bed sheet in the dark, attaching a microphone with a clothes pin and pressing a button the size of a tic-tac under the robe, putting on a hooded cowl that limits your vision to about 8 inches wide in front of you, and then crawling through pitch black curtains onto a bed. Without the full use of your hands, which are lost in the ever-sleeves of the costume. Trying not to trip over yourself. And being slow and creepy-like. In 60 seconds.

It’s like trying to wrestle a tar-baby.

I enjoy playing the Ghost of Christmas Future, but there are times I feel like such a boob. Honestly. There isn’t a blessed thing I can do about it. Just hope for the best and go all Ring-Wraithy. One of these days I fear I’m going to fall flat on my face either getting on or off that bed. It’ll be funny. I’ll laugh (later). But in that moment I’m going to be mortified. So here’s hoping that doesn’t happen.

We have two more weekends of this show, and I’m looking forward to it. Hope to see you there.


  • At 3:21 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    A tar-baby?

    Oh my, that made me laugh.

    And if you fall on your face... continue sliding, grab scrooge around the ankles and bite him. Or something.

    Or you can make it into a kind of graceful leap?

    Definitely, definitely don't know how you do that :)



Post a Comment

<< Home