Here then, some pictures from our last rehearsal of 84, Charing Cross Road. The only remaining difficulty we would seem to be having, between the two of us, is the occasional snag on particular runs where we still find ourselves stumbling now and then, dear P. because she reads so quick and bright, and me because I've gone too plumy and let myself drawl into a kind of twitish mumble. Then we giggle. Can't have that sort of thing. Here's hoping I don't let the dear woman down too badly, come the night of.
Luckily, as neither of us is the young actor we once fancied we might be, we needn't memorize but only read these letters aloud -- thus our reading copies always on the table before us.
Here we are trying to put back something we took out. Ah, the joys of editing changes and collating unnumbered pages.
Dear P. in full flight, reading Helene Hanff's marvelous letters.
This, in rehearsal, is the kind of improvisation too little talked about. Don't have a paperweight? One more reason to wear clogs.
Finally, The Old Boy mutters movingly into the imaginary microphone -- without once looking up from the page -- and worries still about the time.
Hope to see some of you for the actual event, come Wednesday. (I will be wearing both shoes then.)
And thanks to our photographer, Anna!