Red-Headed Trumpet Gal – NYC November 2022

So, I am sitting in a previously warmed leather coach chair in the NEW DRAMA Books on 39th Street in NY, USA.

It’s a quintessentially rainy, NY fall day where walking in midtown with an umbrella is literally taking your life into your hands. And your eyes.

When we got here last night, walking up onto 33rd out of Penn Station, I was so surprisingly overwhelmed by all that is NYC that I didn’t know if I was okay.

I am not overstating. It was a lot.

And then I remembered that while the world continued to spin somehow through 2020 and 2021, a lot of us spent those same two years alone and NOT in NYC.
As mentioned, it was a lot to take in.
All noise and humanity and late-fall humidity and…, well, NYC.

Then, after Ari (my travel companion) and I went to the hotel and dropped off the stuff, we went to Times Square around 7:00pm to get tickets for that nights show.
Girl.
It was a people circus.
I know it has always been that way…but it seems even more so…if that is possible.

But as I walked ever forward through the throngs of people from everywhere in the world, wrapped inside those overwhelming feelings was a gut joy that was warm as a slice of original Ray’s (my old go-to after a good NY callback…so fucking good).
It was strange but good to be back.

Now, I am sitting in this gorgeous bookstore, missing Toronto’s Theatre Books (you don’t know how truly lucky you are to have something till it’s gone) surrounded by both NY people looking for a dramatic place to write and young theatre majors from all across North America.
You can feel their newness, excitement, ambition, belongingness and non-jaded souls.
Now, I am no vampire…but I am quietly drinking them all in.

NYC.

Ari and I flew here on Porter.
Remember when Porter was new, shiny and they gave you a bunch of free shortbread?
Well, hold onto your ass, now the seats have been replaced by ones from 1960 cargo planes and a carry-ons cost $44.

Yes, it was a short flight but it was also long in disappointment.
It was two things at once, you guys.

Last night, I went to see SOME LIKE IT HOT, which is in previews.
I love watching things that are new and not-yet frozen.
I remember when I was doing SHOWBOAT back in 1993 and after four months of rehearsal and then rehearsal with previews (it went on for fucking ever) Hal Prince got on the tanoid (I have NEVER been sure how to spell but that is what they’ve called the backstage speaker system since before I can remember) to announce that the show was frozen, and all my 73 cast mates looked so relieved.

24 year old me: What does that mean?

they: The show is done.

24 year old me: That took forever.

Indeed it did.
And last night, 45 minutes after I arrived in NY, standing out front of the Shubert Theatre, I ran into one of the people I asked that very question 30 years ago, one Amy Jo Phillips.

And even though we could only see the top half of each of our faces, we both knew right away who we were.
And screamed.
Like young theatre majors.
It was joyful as hell.
We talked fast and loud for a while, but after a fashion it got quiet and to my own low-key surprise I blurted out, “Does everyone know he cheated on me?”
She blinked, took my hand and said, “Oh no, I just know you’re single. I don’t pay attention to that shit. Lady, your life looks gooood.”

Which reminded me again, all these years later that most people have lives to live that have nothing to do with my bullshit.

Ari was supposed to come to SOME LIKE IT HOT BUT the lovely Sara Topham went on for her huge understudy role last minute four streets north in LEOPOLDSTADT, so he went to see that, that then second acted SLIH.

So, I sat through the first act on my own.

Masked, vaxxed and pleased about both.

It was something, let me tell you, to be back at a broadway theatre.
The show was really thrilling.
It’s still in previews, so there are some itchy spots but what am amazing assembly of entertainers.

But the reason I felt inspired to sit down and type this on my friggen IPHONE…MY IPHONE PEOPLE…was because just before the last big dance number, every single person in the show was onstage and then right before it all began to wrap up, an ensemble member, a red-headed female dancer, popped onto stage, wig disheveled, a bit dear-in-the-headlights, clutching at the back of her dress with one hand….obviously emerging from a some brand of preview-quick-change-debacle.

I sat up straight, y’all.

Well, anyone who has done any kind of musical work will know that the most interesting storyline was about to unfold with this dedicated but costume-wise hamstrung performer.
From this moment onward, I was invested in her journey and hers alone.
And let me tell you what, it was a worthwhile endeavour.
I silently wished her well, and leaned forward in my seat.

Okay.
First, a young blond chorus dude tried to do up her dress for about one full minute until the music really started and then she took on a determined look as she slapped his hand away to launch herself into the dancing throng.
It’s important to add here that the skill level was elevated, and that she could only use one of her hands for the aforementioned slapping because in the other hand she had…as one sometimes does in a musical…
…a trumpet.

It happens.

Then she started dancing AND singing AND trumpet-holding while righting the dress to her heaving chest whenever she could.

Quite frankly, she was in a musical fight for her musical life, AND she really seemed…if not happy about it…equal to the challenge.
You guys, it was the longest closing number I’ve ever witnessed.
Somewhere along the way she got rid of the trumpet…I was happy for her about that…but then?

The partnering began.

With lifts…many lifts…and throws.
I started to worry that her bosoms were going to make an appearance, but she somehow managed to keep one hand or the other engaged in maintaining her garment.
It was, quite frankly, an award-winning, seemingly never-ending save.
That woman fought like a sailor through 7 of the longest minutes of musical-theatre-mayhem I’ve seen.
When the curtain oddly came down in what seemed to be NEAR the end of the number…or what was indeed a very weird ending (I think it’s not done) to a show…I realized that I’d watched no one but her.

I don’t regret it.

I jumped to my feet when the curtain came back up and it was ALL for her.
The show was really great…but Bravo Trumpet Gal.
Thank you for that.
You were a fucking trooper.

As I left the theatre, I was feeling inspired.
If trumpet gal can make it through that melee, I can make through Times Square in a pandemic a couple more times.

God, I love musical theatre.
And NYC.