On ‘Billy Bishop Goes to War’ at the Belfry and the 'magic of theatre'

First a little back-story - being the minimalist that I am, you may be surprised to hear that, amongst the ten boxes of belongings we whittled all our worldly possessions down to when we made the move across the country to the west coast, is a box full of theatre programs. They are mostly from The Grand, of course, though a few are from Stratford, The Shaw Festival and a couple from that playhouse in Grand Bend - oh yes, Huron Country (not County) playhouse.

To get back to my story, or rather my back-story, though that box of theatre programs survived, ‘the big purge’, I’m afraid it didn’t make the journey with us to our new home. Instead, it was left behind in the cluttered abyss of my parent’s attic along with our jeweler’s anvil and that awesome set of golf irons I bought at a flea market for $40. Still and all, in that box of theatre programs are two that I, in this moment, wish I had. ‘Why is that?’ you might ask. Well, because tonight I’ll have the pleasure of taking in Billy Bishop Goes to War at Victoria’s Belfry Theatre. Need I say more?

Well, I suppose further details may be in order.

Had I had those programs I would now be placing them in an envelope along with the following note:

To Zachary Gray:

Enclosed are two programs that I would like you to have. They are from the two previous productions of ‘Billy Bishop Goes to War’, that I’ve attended, one in 1985 and one in 1999 both of which featured your father in the role that you performed tonight.

As I worked at the Grand in 1985, I had the pleasure of seeing that particular production numerous times. If my aged memory serves me correctly, on one of the evenings, the crew were unable to raise the curtain due to a technical malfunction. Your father and Eric Peterson were left to perform the entire play in the four feet of stage in front of the curtain. They did a excellent job dealing with the unexpected turn of events, and the audience that night, who were not informed of the circumstances, were left to believe that that was the way the show was always performed. It was the first time I fully understood the extremity of the expression, ‘the show must go on’ and the beginning of my love affair with live theatre.

Thank you so much for your performance this evening. I’m sure your father must be very proud (between you and me, I felt your interpretation of the role of ‘the musician' to be far more memorable*).

Yours truly,…

That’s where I would end my letter of course, but as this is a blog post I will partake in a little self-indulgent rambling (because it seems that’s what blog posts are for). You, in your more acutely tuned sense of theatre esthetic, may have always been aware of this, but it wasn’t until I saw that performance that I realized the significance of live theatre, where every show is different form the last (granted, not as obviously different as that particular performance, but I was a teenager at the time and responded best to exaggerated demonstrations along with excessiveness in general). That, to me, is one half the ‘magic of theatre’,

…the other half being no matter how long the line-up is outside the theatre door at five minutes to show time, the front of house staff always manage to get everyone inside and seated in time for the show to begin on schedule.

Magic, I tell you!

*As you will surmise I am writing this post in advance of my taking in the performance and this remark may not turn out to be factual. I’m going to assume it will be so as in my ‘aged memory’ I will most likely recall the minute details of this production more clearly, at least in the short term.