Life is a Cabaret
This is an excerpt from The Thing Is.
Following persuasion from Michael, a friend who fancied himself as a future celebrity, I joined the school play. We were doing Cabaret, a risqué move for a teenage production although our drama teacher lived on the edge. A dead ringer for Richard E. Grant, the whiff of stale smoke and alcohol which accompanied him at all times suggested a similar lifestyle to Withnail. He drank bottle after bottle of Blue Charge, a cheap Red Bull impersonation.
After short auditions, Michael got the part of Cliff — a starring role — while my pal Sean and I landed cameos as drunken sailors. This represented little progress from a dancing spider turn in a primary school production.
Flicking through the script before our first rehearsal, it struck me how wildly inappropriate it was for school kids to be playing the parts of prostitutes and alcoholics. This wasn’t my main concern though; where were my scenes? It took a while to identify any involvement for my man but when I finally saw some action, I was stunned:
SAILOR #2 emerges.
SAILOR #2 passionately kisses FRAULEIN KOST.
What the hell? Surely not? I was thirteen. I’d only kissed two, perhaps three, girls before this (through the romantic mediums of Spin the Bottle and an under eighteens night at Evolution nightclub) and in all honesty, hadn’t really enjoyed it. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I certainly wasn’t ready for this. Besides, the girl playing Fraulein Kost was two years older than me. How would she feel about it? Sailor #2 was hardly a catch.
I called Michael that evening, troubled.
“Have you read the script?”
He found it difficult to offer sound advice through ruptures of laughter.
The first rehearsal was on a Saturday morning and I bottled it.
“Where are you?” Michael texted me.
“I’m not doing it.”
On Monday, Michael revealed that, on learning of my obstinacy, our drama teacher had seen red and thrown a pile of papers down the theatre steps in a rage. He shouted about being sick of people letting him down. Perhaps he’d had a heavy night on the sauce before? Or was he having (well-justified) second thoughts over his decision to do Cabaret? It sounded like a wholly over-the-top reaction to my absence anyway. The show could easily go on without me.
Michael, for his own amusement and Sean, through fear that he might have to take on my part, talked me out of quitting by springing a fierce guilt trip.
“After he’d calmed down, he just seemed disappointed. And sad. Disappointed and sad.”
With reluctance, I told the drama teacher I was back in to which he seemed satisfied.
“Okay, we’ll try your scene tomorrow after school.”
Thirty long hours later, the rehearsal came around. I anxiously watched as The Kit Kat girls practiced a dance routine before my scene. With nervous energy coursing through me, I stumbled on to the set, flailing my arms and pulling a stupid face.
“Cut!” the teacher said, taking an angry gulp of Blue Charge. “Too much Andy. Way too much.”
Why had I voluntarily re-joined this play again?
On take two, I was more understated, taking up my position in the centre of the stage and waiting for the music to stop as Fraulein Kost approached me.
My heart was pounding.
An experienced actress, she was nonplussed and draped her arms around my neck before removing my sailor hat and putting it on.
Time stood still. All eyes were on me. This was it.
Fraulein Kost tilted her head and we kissed.
It was, surprisingly, fine. No accidental head-butts or biting and the kiss itself went considerably better than a recent teeth-banging episode in the midst of a foam party at Evolution. I’d been worried about nothing. The lights dimmed and I was given a thumbs up by the drama teacher. As we walked off stage, Fraulein Kost shot me a smile and complimented my acting, making it subtly clear that “acting” was all this was.
The teacher informed me that we would not have to do the kiss again now until the dress rehearsal which suited me fine and, leaving the theatre, I felt pure relief. Out of all the things that could have gone wrong, I’d come out unscathed. I sensed Michael was annoyed that my dignity had remained intact.
After a few rehearsals, I was beginning to see the appeal of being in a play. For large chunks I was surplus to requirements and spent my time pissing around with Sean and Jordan (who had joined late having heard rumour of revealing costumes) backstage. Here we had the opportunity to hang around with the girls in the play who were older and cooler than us. In normal school life, they would not have given us a second glance but with the ratio of boys to girls 5:1 in our favour, they happily chatted to us and, on occasion, flirted. Perhaps I’ll go to drama school? I pondered as a Kit Kat girl sat on my lap one evening.
On the evening of the dress rehearsal, the atmosphere was electric. Dancing girls were spraying their hair and applying extravagant makeup, guys dressed as Nazis were adjusting their outfits and Michael was pacing up and down, practicing his American accent. In my full sailor costume for the first time, I felt few nerves about the kiss scene. After all I’d done it before and it had been fine. Being honest, I was quietly looking forward to it
Our drama teacher burst in.
“Let’s do this!” He said before flying into a passionate motivational speech. I’d never seen him so enthusiastic. My adrenaline was pumping.
“Andy, can I have a quick word?” he said as the buzz in the air settled the cast readied themselves for the start of the show.
“Sure.”
I followed him into the hallway, wondering what he wanted. Was he going to offer heartfelt thanks for my decision to stay in the play? Praise my courage perhaps?
“I’ve decided to cut your scene with Fraulein Kost. I don’t think it added to the play.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?
