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Goodbye to Andalusia

Chorus member Charles Blue carries a piece of the gorgeous flooring from the stage. Photo: Helen Fields

Well, it’s over. Our beautiful Andalusian world has been dismantled.

The final step in The Christmas Revels is taking down the set and moving all of our things out of the theater that we’d occupied for the last two weeks.

The entire cast helps out with strike. The actual set was mostly taken apart by professionals wielding power tools. The main task for the rest of us is carrying things. Props, pieces of flooring, bundles of costumes tied up in sheets. When the truck was full, anyone who was available drove to the Revels office in Silver Spring to move everything back off the truck. I’m not usually one for volunteering for extra heavy lifting, but I know it goes better with more people, and I didn’t have to get up early in the morning.

A box of programs makes the trip back down from the mezzanine. Photo: Helen Fields

We formed bucket brigades passing merchandise up to the mezzanine, programs to the mezzanine, programs back down from the mezzanine (there was indecision about the programs), props into the rehearsal room to await sorting, hair and makeup supplies down to the basement, and programs to their final location, stacked on a landing halfway to the basement. It was midnight when I left the office.

The enchantment has ended. The magnificent treasure room has somehow turned back into two-by-fours and piles of elderly sofa cushions. And those of us in the chorus go back to our regularly scheduled lives as lawyers and teachers and speechwriters and science writers–taking the memory of Al-Andalus forward into the world.

The tarasque returns to its basement lair at the Revels office. Photo: Helen Fields

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Wait, I Don’t Live in Andalusia?

Apparently teen Meghan Siritzky was having trouble concentrating in math class today. Photo: Meghan Siritzky

Sunday night I was waiting in line at the grocery store and felt on my fingers for my rings. Except I don’t wear rings. Those are part of my costume. After nine straight days of rehearsal and performance, it’s odd to return to the real world.

When I left the theater after our last show of the first weekend of Christmas Revels performances, my carpool-mate and I both needed groceries. We walked into Trader Joe’s and I said, “Whoa, people who aren’t in Revels.” It was a little overwhelming to be in a brightly-lit space full of people buying food. No adorable children were dancing with eggplants or anything.

After I’d started writing this, Meghan Siritzky, a member of the teen chorus, put in a special request via Facebook for a blog post about surviving Revels withdrawal. I don’t really get Revels withdrawal anymore – the fact that it keeps coming around every year helps. And, honestly, I’m relieved to have four whole days when I can pay attention to my neglected work and I don’t have to put on makeup or remember my lyrics.

But it’s nice to know that I’ll be back in Andalusia Friday night, for the start of our final five performances.

Anyone else have any suggestions for Meghan?

Learn more about the 2011 Christmas Revels: Andalusian Treasures
View the Schedule of Performances and Purchase Tickets

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In the Makeup Room

The makeup room backstage at Lisner Auditorium. Photo: Helen Fields

There are a lot of things I like about Revels. The community. The singing. The costumes. The ribbon sticks. Here’s something I don’t like: makeup. My goodness, stage makeup does not feel nice. And it doesn’t look so nice, either, up close.

That’s ok, because stage makeup isn’t meant to be seen up close. It has to be so heavy because of the bright stage lights. They cut right through the top layer of skin, I am told, and leave you looking like a ghost. That’s why the foundation has to be super-thick, so the light will bounce off of the makeup and go back to the audience’s eyes. Basically, so we’ll look human.

Stage makeup probably doesn’t look so bad if it’s put on by an expert. But the person who puts on my stage makeup is, for the most part, me. And I am most emphatically not a makeup expert. Fortunately, Revels is prepared for people like me. Signs are posted with the steps in makeup application, from face-washing to blush. Volunteers are on hand to do eyes and anything else we can’t figure out on our own, and middle-school-aged girls apply powder.

Also, I am not that chalky in real life. Photo: Helen Fields

This year there’s a new addition to my makeup kit: False eyelashes. Yipe. I have actually worn false eyelashes once before, for the only show I ever did in college. (I was a Hot Box Doll in Guys & Dolls, and no, I will not be sharing photographs.) I think I must have put the eyelashes on myself then, but last night I just could not figure out how to do it. So a volunteer agreed to glue them on, reluctantly – she’d never put on false eyelashes before. I said I was ok with being at the bottom end of her learning curve.

The result: the false eyelashes landed way above my real eyelash line, like emaciated caterpillars who had lost their way, and my upper eyelids were glued partway open. The volunteer and I got sort of a collective case of the giggles. She wiped off the excess glue and sent me to rehearsal with functional, if slightly goofy, eyelids. Practice makes perfect, right?

Learn more about the 2011 Christmas Revels: Andalusian Treasures
View the Schedule of Performances and Purchase Tickets