It was the last performance of South Pacific and I was on stage watching Robert Schneider sing “This Nearly Was Mine.” My character, Lt. Cable, had just had a significant exchange with Emile, Schneider’s character, about our respective love interests and our inability to cross the cultural barriers that divided us. For the scene, I was directed to simply “be” on stage as Emile sings a very plaintive song about a love that would remain unfulfilled. As I listened to Bob sing to a captivated audience of matinee-goers, something quite magical began to take shape. Bob had always performed this song seated on the downstage bench, very close to the audience. As he had for every other performance, he cradled a prop bouquet of flowers in his hands as he gestured toward the house. On this afternoon, at our last performance, his actions and voice broke the plane between audience and actor, between performance and reality? and yet magically held them all together in a moment of sheer beauty.

As Bob reached out with his song both emotionally and physically, an older woman in the front row stretched her arms out to him in response. I was amused at first, thinking she was mistaken in believing that he was trying to give her the bouquet. Then Bob did the unthinkable; he recognized her and reached further, trying to actually hand her the bouquet. She and he went back and forth trying to stretch far enough to connect and pass the bouquet, all while Bob continued to sing and play the part until, instinctively, he stepped off the stage and went down to her. By this time, the rest of the audience was aware of what was going on (how could they not be) and they became emotionally invested in the transference, both that of the bouquet to the woman and the actor breaking the fourth wall and entering their shared space. As he sang, Bob gently helped the woman stand and he held her in his arms while she held the flowers. It was one of the most beautifully moving moments I have ever seen in a theatre, and as he wrapped up the song, he allowed himself enough time to say goodbye to her, step back up on stage and through the fourth wall, and return to the world of Emile and South Pacific. The audience went from enchantment to ecstasy, soaking in the moment that they had just shared with the performer and with each other, and when the applause finally died down, we carried on with the play.
Someone told me after the show, as the performers and audience mingled in the lobby, the woman approached Bob and thanked him for what he did, explaining to him that she lost her husband a year earlier and that she intended on taking the flowers to where he was laid to rest.

Perhaps what separates reality from performance is not so blurred after all.
*****
Mike- I’ll keep the coffee on for you.

Jim McDermott
Executive Director
HCCT