Story and photos by Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Paradise Center for the Arts in Faribault
I strolled into the Paradise Center for the Arts one Saturday morning, with a camera bag slung over my shoulder, tripod-toting husband, Randy, along. I had come to purchase a recycled piece of artwork and then shoot a few quick photos of this historic theatre in downtown Faribault.
The anticipated brief visit, however, extended into more than one hour, thanks to Mark Ahnemann, actor and volunteer. He gave us an impromptu, behind-the-scenes tour into the depths of this renovated theatre.
Ahnemann offered the tour when he interrupted my photo shoot. I didn’t mind. I’m always up for chatting and on this visit I was interested in the orchestra pit, used publicly for the first time during this summer’s performance of “South Pacific.”
As much as I enjoyed this sometimes boisterous, sometimes moving, sometimes thought-provoking World War II story of love and of prejudice, I worried about the performers tumbling into the open orchestra pit.
From my vantage point on a chair positioned at the end of an aisle (because I waited too long to buy tickets to the sold-out performance), I could see the fringes of the pit right there, open, near the middle of the stage. All of the on-stage marching, dancing, even acrobatics, seemed to invite disaster, which never happened.
Saturday morning, my natural curiosity lured me up the steps, onto the black-as-night stage floor and to the dangerous edges of that open pit. I peered down into a jumble of chairs, music stands and wires in a space measuring some eight feet by 30 feet, about eight by six feet of that open to the stage floor.
Even from that perspective, I sensed how uncomfortable this could feel for the director and 14 musicians performing the 2 ½ -hour-long “South Pacific.” Ahnemann said one of the musicians struggled with claustrophobia, easy to understand when I too dislike close spaces.
The orchestra pit's size makes it a tight fit for musicians. Although it's small, it has a big role in helping make each performance a success.
As Ahnemann led us through dark curtains down a narrow stairway, into a narrow room that doubled as costume and make-up center, up more narrow stairs that opened into the narrow orchestra pit, I could feel my shoulders tensing.
Entering the pit, I instinctively ducked my 5-foot, 8-inch frame, barely clearing the ceiling. I snapped a few photos, walked past baskets filled with bite-sized pieces of candy (without snitching any) and then wiggled around chairs to the keyboard and the drums directly below the opening to the stage. Even this area felt too cozy for my comfort.
Exiting the pit, we rounded the corner through the performers’ lounge and stood under the auditorium. The low ceiling pressed heavy, like a smothering blanket upon me, before gradually increasing in height to the slant of the floor above.
Anxious to leave that windowless space, I hurried back toward the more breathable make-up and costuming area. Combs and hairspray, foundation bottles and brushes, curlers and wigs, half-empty water bottles and flowers, and other theatrical necessities littered the vanity, backed by a bank of mirrors rimmed with light bulbs.
Feeling a bit like an intruder into the performers’ personal space, I none-the-less moved in for a closer look. To my delight, there, behind a bouquet of orange lilies, pink roses and a white flower I couldn’t identify, I spotted a sketch taped to the mirror of Bloody Mary, a lead character in South Pacific. Notations: “no mascara” and “Teeth.”
This drawing, Ahnemann says, guided the make-up artists.
Nearby, I pointed my camera toward painted palm trees and a note atop an ironing board: “Cast of South Pacific—Thank you so much for all of your hard work. This has been a really fun experience, and it’s all your fault! J Shelley (aka Bloody Mary).”
Then, a quick glance at the attendance check-in sheet, and I gained more insight into these performers. Their personalities shone in squiggles and hearts and stars and words like “SEXY” and “most definitely here.”
As we climbed back up the steps to auditorium level, my husband paused to point at the steel framing around the narrow doorway that opens onto several steps leading to the stage. I marveled at the cramped spaces in which these performers work, at the thick stone walls, at the historic feel of this 1929 building with its heavy dark drapes and enchanting Moorish courtyard atmosphere.
And I remembered how, years ago, I had come here, had settled into the seats of the then two-screen movie theater with our two little girls for a showing of Disney’s “The Little Mermaid.”
The Merlin Players will present Anne of Green Gables, an adaptation of L.M. Montgomery’s book, at 7:30 p.m. August 7, 8, 13, 14 and 15 and at 2 p.m. August 9 at the Paradise Center for the Arts. Call 507.332.7372 to order tickets or for more information.