Guest Editorial: Making the best of A Dog's Dinner

"Stop raaght there, and drop thaat knife!" For weeks I had been practising that line in my best Yankee accent. I was one of the chorus in Phyl Cameron's winter pantomime, and I'd been given a small role as the leader of the US Cavalry who saves Old Mother Hubbard from being scalped by the injuns.

I had needed some social activity to get me through the plateau's long, cold winter evenings, and the only other options seemed to be beer and the rugby channel at the Rocks or rock music and wild-eyed young lifties at the Lodge. An advert in the local paper at the end of May seeking cast members for A Dog's Dinner had brought me the Raetihi's Theatre Royal where I found about 50 children and adults had gathered.

An impressive array of props, floodlights, sound gear and costumes was scattered about the theatre, a dozen posters on the back wall detailed past performances by the "Phoenix Players", and the singing and acting by the other players at the first rehearsal was dauntingly competent. I was really going to have to work hard to come up to their standard; the last time I had been in something like this was at Wanganui Marist back in 1952, in one of Brother Regis's musicals at the Opera House.

Driving to rehearsals at Raetihi on snowy roads was a challenge, but I had discovered I had a strong baritone voice that blended well with the mostly female chorus, and I drove through the dark and stormy nights lustily bellowing "Sou-wester, sou-wester!" Our play had a whole raft of topical songs to embellish its storyline: when Richard Harker's Old Mother Hubbard discovered that her cupboard was bare, when the good fairy Kandy Mott whirled away the old dame to find her long-lost brother in the American Wild West, and when Korty Wilson's Big Chief Making Wind asked about the imminent hordes of bike-riding tourists, we had appropriate ditties for the occasion.

Phyl was putting the show together like bits of Lego. Children practised after school, adults after work; actors on Mondays, chorus on Tuesdays, soloists on Thursdays, teenagers whenever they could be parted from their boyfriends.

The Lego pieces started to fit into place as the sets for each act took shape. A month out from opening night Pete Kearney and Ces Roke had created Mother Hubbard's rumpty Raetihi shanty and were now morphing it into a honky-tonk saloon and then into a Comanche Indian encampment.

They were producing professional settings; Ces had trained in London as a set designer before switching to farming and Pete was a craftsman who had worked on the sets of several movies made near Raeti-Vegas - Without a Paddle, LOTR, River Queen and others.

Those Lego parts were largely united and animated by the performances of Liz Brooker and Diana Grey. As Mother Hubbard's two eldest children, this dynamic pair bounced around the stage selling firewood, enthusing the child performers, and declaring undying love for their onstage romantic interests. Even though they were among those struck by an attack of the lurgy later in the show's run, they still raised everyone's energy level every time they came on stage. Their energy especially seemed to rub off on to Siana Rivlin-Meyer, a shy young girl at the first rehearsals, who blossomed in her demanding role as the Comanche chief's fiery and spirited teenage daughter.

As well as writing and directing the show, Phyl was leading a team of parents in making dozens of costumes.

Tennis shoes and T-shirts were dyed in co-ordinated colours for the opening scene, and flannelette sheets dyed in coffee were transformed into Indians' buckskin jerkins, with drinking straws forming the beadwork on them.

Kandy the props manager was turning out totem poles, cacti and a string of calico sausages, Mike and Lucy Conway were setting up the lights and the sound gear, while musician Gary Lucre had given up gigs in Wellington to back up our songs.

We didn't see it all come together until the last couple of rehearsals. In the chorus we finally knew how to integrate our movements with all the other Lego components, although we were still fudging a few of the words in some songs. One main character was stumbling on his lines and bookings were light, too. But Phyl was unruffled; she had been putting on shows for 25 years.

On our first night, people came pouring in off the street until the full house sign had to go up, and we roared enthusiastically into our big opening number.

Lynne Pope's Dandy Dog leapt across the stage biting the baddies, Mother Hubbard magically shrank to half her size, the poor old beggar woman was transformed into a portly fairy, big Barney Warbrick was wonderful with his Billy T James imitation - "I'm a nine-stone cowboy ... tee-hee," Donna Stout's sultry bar-room jazz song was spellbinding, the can-can girls kicked up their heels and Jack Trash's gang kicked up trouble. The actor with memory problems was now word-perfect, too; Phyl had fitted him with an earpiece and was feeding lines to him with an offstage Motorola.

As the show headed for its climax, I waited down behind the audience with my cavalrymen, four little boys armed with plastic pistols from the 2-Dollar shop. Up on stage Korty was threatening to scalp Old Mother H and all the star-crossed lovers with a 3-foot-long bush knife, a very real bush knife. I was thankful that this was only a pantomime.

We were due to make our cavalry charge at the top of page 32 in the script.

But chaos loomed onstage when the dialogue got half way down page 30, skipped to page 31, then back to page 30 again. Up in the sound booth Lucy made an executive decision and sounded our bugle charge. Led by Dandy the Dog, we raced up the aisle. "Starp raaght thayer,'n' drarp thaaat knaafe!"

Pictures of A Dog's Dinner can be seen at Archerpix.com

SUBMIT A GUEST EDITORIAL The Chronicle welcomes submissions for guest editorials but in the lead-up to the election asks that any articles submitted are issue-based and not blatant electioneering. Submitters are asked to also disclose any political affiliations, past or present, and explain briefly why they are exploring the chosen issue, outlining any relevant experience or qualifications. The Chronicle reserves the right to edit or reject any such submissions.

Email submissions to editor@wanganuichronicle.co.nz with GUEST EDITORIAL in the subject line or write to GUEST EDITORIAL c/o Editorial Department, Wanganui Chronicle, PO Box 433 Wanganui. You must give full name, and contact details.