No More Waiting in the Wings

By Gerald Clarke

For one night, understudies step into the spotlight

Usually they have to wait for someone to break an ankle or catch the flu before they are allowed to sing those songs in public. But for one night last week at Manhattan's Town Hall, they held center stage, belting out lyrics for which they are not at all famous. A wistful young woman named Tracy Shayne gave her plaintive interpretation of What I Did for Love from A Chorus Line; Rhonda Coullet, helped by a regular cast member, Cass Morgan, did a comic number from Pump Boys and Dinettes; and Ruth Brisbane brought down the house with the sexy The Right Key but the Wrong Keyhole from One Mo' Time.

Waitin' in the Wings, sponsored by Manhattan Community College, was a tribute to the theater's least seen and, by definition, most obscure performers, the understudies. "They are always ready, rarely called upon and least appreciated," said Vincent Sardi, owner of Sardi's and the show's host. They have one of the most frustrating occupations in the country: being prepared to go on if something befalls someone else.

In some productions that happens frequently. Rock Star Andy Gibb, for instance, was eventually fired from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat after missing twelve performances in little more than a month; George C. Scott failed to appear twelve times last year during the six-month run of Noel Coward's Present Laughter; and Frank Langella missed 28 performances during his half year in Amadeus. On any given night, several of the felines in Cats may be substitutes. By contrast, the indestructible Marian Seldes was never out once during 1,793 performances of Deathtrap, and except for vacations, those three iron ladies, Lauren Bacall, Raquel Welch and Debbie Reynolds, have danced their way through every matinee and evening of Woman of the Year.

Broadway lore has numerous burbly stories of brave understudies suddenly being called in to take over, at which point a famous agent or director notices them and sends them on to stardom. This inspiring scenario put the first spotlight on Shirley MacLaine, who won a Hollywood contract after subbing for Carol Haney in Pajama Game. But even the understudies find it difficult to believe that such things actually happen. "Those who think that being an understudy will lead to opportunities are wrong," says British Actor Daniel Gerroll, who covers for Edward Herrmann in Plenty. When a star leaves a play, understudies rarely become replacements. Doug Voet, who covers the lead in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, has been passed over three times. Says he: "It was devastating, but I can't let it get to me--at least not in public. Being an understudy is like being a guest in your own home."

For most actors, inactivity is the most difficult part they will ever play. "It is hard on your soul," says Randy Danson, who understudies Kate Nelligan in Plenty. "You are either extremely bored or extremely terrified, or completely elated or completely crushed." Danson has been all four of those, and two days after the play opened last October, she had to step in when Nelligan had the flu. "For three performances I rode the crest of a tremendous wave," says Danson, "but then I was back in the Green Room doing crossword puzzles. It takes a lot of adjustment to handle those huge swings of the pendulum."

Everything and everyone seem to be conspiring against the substitute. Because of featherbedding rules of the stagehands union, for example, understudies usually have to rehearse without props, costumes or scenery. Sometimes an actor is so busy trying to avoid bumping into unfamiliar furniture that he can scarcely think about the role.

An understudy also misses the lessons to be learned from a live audience--for example, discovering where the laughs are and where they are not. Beyond that, the understudy must often overcome audience hostility. Many people demand their money back when a star is absent; some of those who stay are belligerent. When he comes in to play Joseph, says Voet, he can sometimes sense an unfriendly feeling: "Show me you are worth the $381 paid for my ticket."

Understudies fall into two categories. Some have a small regular role, as Voet does, and assume a larger one when someone becomes ill. Occasionally they must be prepared to perform as many as five major parts. Others, called standbys, must simply be on call and attend weekly rehearsals, as Danson does for Nelligan in Plenty. In either case, the pay is the same: $575 a week minimum, more for an actual performance. Says Danson: "Working in Plenty has allowed me to have a savings account for the first time in five years."

Still, no player wants to stand in the wings forever, and the wait can be almost unbearable. "Will they love me? Hate me? Will I make a fool of myself? Those doubts go to bed with you, wake up with you, walk around the streets of New York with you," says Brenda Pressley of Dreamgirls. "It's a constant battle, and it can beat you if you let it." Some do let it, and along with the stories of the little understudy who could, there are legends of the little stand-ins who couldn't. Once, long ago, that old stalwart Dorothy Gish finally missed a performance of Life with Father. Called in after a year of standing by, her understudy fled into the night -- never to be seen on Broadway again.

That, almost certainly, will never happen to the spirited and talented performers who stood on the stage of Town Hall last week. "I was very anxious about doing that song from Woman of the Year for the first time in public," admits Timothy Jecko, who understudies Jamie Ross, the male lead. "But the minute I walked out I felt terrific. The audience was there, the lights were on, and there was no turning back. Being an understudy finally had a beginning, a middle and an end."

-- By Gerald Clarke.

Reported by Elaine Dutka/ New York

With reporting by Elaine Dutka This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.