Me, the Man in the Chair

For the last two months I was doing something I haven’t done in about 15 years: I acted in a musical. I’ve had a rocky relationship with theatre, one of those teenage infatuations that became too overwhelming when I was pursuing my theatre tech degree. You know, one of those moments where you go, “Oh, I guess I don’t love this enough to do it for a living. Also, I’m not that good at it.” The last time I was doing theatre I was emotional and in my twenties, and I didn’t like the person it made me be, so I stepped away from it. Then I turned to standup comedy, which, well, we don’t have the time to dissect that here…

The play in question was The Drowsy Chaperone and it was being put on at the Strand, the community theater in my hometown. The last play I did was also for the Strand, so this was a real “full circle” summer. If you were a theater kid in the 2000’s you knew The Drowsy Chaperone. It wasn’t a smash hit; it was produced in a time right before every musical on Broadway was based on a freaking movie or TV show. But it won a Tony for Best Book of a Musical and it is a very underrated gem. The story is rather simple: a man, only referred to as Man in Chair, plays a record in his apartment. The record is an outdated cheesy musical from the twenties and through his imagination (and theatre magic) the show comes to life in his apartment. You’ve heard of a comic’s comic? This is theatre kid’s theatre.

The Man, lip-synching along with the Drowsy Chaperone (Rose Cunningham).

I was blessed enough to play the Man in Chair in this production (I don’t like saying ‘blessed’ for many reasons, but here we are). When I first saw this show years ago at Point Park University I instantly loved the character and thought, “Damn, I could do that.” I was thrilled to actually get the opportunity. The Man in Chair is really a theatre role that was made for a comedian; 96% of my lines were delivered to the audience instead of my fellow actors. It was a lot of memorization but I relished having the challenge. While the rest of the cast learned dance numbers I was off by myself memorizing. No complaints, I’m dogshit at dancing, but there was some mild FOMO of the group.

The last two months were a funny but sleepy blur (note I resisted the urge to say “drowsy”). I loved being in the play but, oh my god, I’m in my thirties now with a full-time job and I don’t have as much endurance. I was too scatter-brained to properly meal prep so more often my “dinners” were gas station pepperoni rolls or late night fast food. I missed being able to go for a run, and I missed having the brain capacity to write. At one point during rehearsals my castmate asked me, “Are you ready for this show to close so you can let this all fall out of your brain?” And immediately I thought, Oh hell yes. I loved doing it but in the middle of that tech week, you find yourself in a “sad to see it end, but happy to get away from it” kind of mentality.

We had a small cast and, unlike the productions I recall from my past, there was no weird bullshit. Everyone was just happy showing up and working on the show. Tensions weren’t running as high as I remembered (and let me be 100% clear: I was incredibly high-strung and bitchy when I was doing theater in my twenties, so a lot of bullshit was brought on myself). I was onstage the entire time, and it was a joy watching the play every night. Seeing everyone grow into their roles, learning new ways to deliver jokes, and so on.

Sympathizing with the Bride’s Lament (Veda Wheeler).

I generally am very self-deprecating but let me say I didn’t have to do much “acting” for the role. The lines require a delivery that suited my usual comedic style. The Man cuts in to the show with fun facts of musical theater history, occasionally snarks about something he finds stupid in a scene, one time he interrupts a song to say he’s going to pour a brandy. It’s a juicy and hilarious role, especially if you want to be in a musical but don’t want to sing or dance. But there’s a sadness to Man in Chair too and honestly that’s what I loved about him, and that’s what I related to the most.

 Spoilers for an almost 20-year-old musical ahead. As the record plays on, the Man starts to reveal certain cracks in his life, and the audience begins to realize he’s using the record to “escape” his less-than-happy existence. Right from the opening monologue, the Man mentions how musicals “take you to another world” and by the end you realize just how valuable that is to him. In my least-favorite monologue* of the show, the Man desperately recounts his failed marriage to the audience, trying to get them to validate his choice of going through with a wedding even though it was ultimately doomed. The relationship is dead and has been for a while, but he’s still haunted on whether or not he’d done the right thing. 

*I say least-favorite because it was very long and had a lot of adjectives that I had to remember, it had to go a certain way, and it had to build emotionally. None of which is hard for a real actor, mind you.

Me, acting sad.

At the climax of the show the last note of the record is cut off by a power outage. After an interruption from the building superintendent, the Man breaks down because the one thing in his life that brings him joy has been ruined. I’ve been there, Man. Where the hypothetical music stops and you are forced to admit how sad you are. It’s sad, yes, but always cathartic when you finally acknowledge it, and damnit that’s one of the best things about good art. The “twist” is meta; the show is lighthearted and silly, but it takes the time to remind you that life isn’t a musical. 

The final number is sung, a “rousing anthem” called “As We Stumble Along.” The characters come back onstage and sing with the man, acknowledging him personally for the first time. The Man takes a deep breath and remembers that, no matter how sad he feels, he must keep on living. He’s using the show to distract himself from life, yes, but at the same time the show is the pickup he needs to keep going. At least that was how I interpreted the character. Because that is what I do when I’m feeling blue.

As much as I enjoyed the quips and the monologues and the bitchy commentary, it was that part at the end I was always excited to do. For one thing I got to break down on stage, but like in a sad way. In comedy I break down for the chuckles. But it was nice to play a moment which most people experience privately, to fall into your Chair and start tearing up about your sadness. Forgetting there’s a hundred or so people watching you do it. Damn, young Isaac was right; theatre IS fun.

And now the record has stopped for me and I must return to the “real” world. Some things are less tolerable than they used to be, it seems. But I can’t pout in my chair for the rest of my life. So, I’ll put on a good song, sing it to myself, sing it with others, and keep going. We “stumble along” and keep going. 

Production photos all taken by Robert Ovies.

Support live theatre! Thanks to the Strand, to the crew, to the cast, to the audiences!

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