“Acting” in Rio’s The Little Theater

I joined The Little Theater of Rio de Janeiro while I, the American overseas wife, searched for something to do and found the roll at TLT was made up of other American overseas wives. Our director was Ruth Stanton, a tough lady who put us to work in different ways. I became props coordinator, a job that entailed scouring for pieces of this and that around the expatriate community. Which was why Renato came home one evening and found our dining table gone as well as sundry other objects.

Ruth cast me in small roles where I never had a chance to speak. There were backstage dramas among us. Lupe was having an affair with Tom, and an American man asked his wife for a divorce because he had fallen in love with a Carioca who had a part as a waitress. Each night, after rehearsals, I came home to Renato and fell into bed knowing I was wound up and wouldn’t sleep for hours.

I auditioned for the role of Kate in “Kiss Me Kate” with the song “So in Love” and received plaudits. But reading for the part did me in. “So cute!” said the director of my 12-year-old speaking voice. I think I have two sets of vocal chords, one for singing (I’m a lyric soprano and quite powerful) and the other for speech. So that was that for the part of Kate, the shrew.

Ruth assigned color combinations for our costumes. My Brazilian tailor was intrigued by the headgear, a tall cone with a veil. Wondering, he fabricated it, but I don’t remember how I got it to stay on my head.

“Kiss Me Kate” was the crowning opus of Ruth Stanton. It was too bad, after all the work that went into it, it ran only two nights. Two nights were all Renato could take, as a matter of fact, as he broke into a sweat every time I appeared on stage. I’m the one in the mustard-colored outfit, far left.

Those were the days…..

Days in Rio de Janeiro

Some drivers threw away their car mufflers so that they sounded big and muscle-y. We were able to enjoy these booming roars at our address, a little old villa, Avenida Epitacio Pessoa, 864, night and day. Our home faced the lake Lagoa Freitas where pedal boats moved about calmly. And beyond the lake towered Corcovado, the Christ the Redeemer figure. Renato, on coming home from work, liked to look out to the statue and say he was getting his daily rental money’s worth.

We had Jeff, our Doberman pinscher, whose official name was Mongol de Leimar. Jeff always followed Renato upstairs where he shucked his office clothes and began their game, snapping his necktie at Jeff and going “Heeeyah!” and other such noises, which set Jeff to a high-pitched barking and scampering about. Jeff was a luvverly dog and if he didn’t perform so well in the dog show, as written up in “The Carioca Dobie Derby,” it was our fault, not his.

Those were good years, and my job at the American School of Rio de Janeiro enhanced them. I joined the American Little Theater where I produced a play and was cast in “Kiss Me Kate” as a courtier. My Brazilian tailor could not quite believe the tall conical headgear that went with my gown was not a joke, but he fabricated it. I don’t remember how I made it stay on my head.

Those were the days…..

Kiss Me Kate

After a year in Rio de Janeiro as an overseas corporate wife and mulling over an occupation — not bridge, no — not golf, no — not the beach — I got a job at the American School of Rio de Janeiro and then joined the American troupe, The Little Theater. Our director Ruth Stanton launched a production that had us rushing off to have our costumes made. Mine was a mustard-colored gown (very odd I thought) and a tall dunce headpiece with veil. That item bemused my Brazilian tailor, who proved up to the job of securing it to my head.

I went up there to try out for the lead part as Kate, sang “So In Love” and received enthusiastic applause. But next day as I read from the script, “I hate men!” I looked over at the seats to see everyone falling over with mirth. Ruth said kindly, “It’s just not for your sweet voice, dear.” I knew that but had tried anyway, bringing my meanest vocal up from the guts. At this stage in my life I am still being asked by strange callers to call my mommy to the phone.

Well, Ruth gave me some extra “bits” to do, in one scene retreating backward from the court bully. In the audience, Renato was sending anguished pleas to San Gennaro in case I tripped (I do that a lot, or at least, I did). It is accurate to say that all my theatrical exploits were harder on Renato than on me. I was having fun. He had to bring himself to the performances and have panic attacks. At the performance itself his attempts to photograph me on stage were so erratic that a friend sitting beside him took the camera away from him and did the job herself. The results were far better than portraits of the necks of people sitting in front.

For one gig at the Hotel Intercontinental, I drove myself there, handed my Beetle over to the valet, and found I had locked the door from the inside. The valet looked at me, said he had to break the window, and proceeded to do so. It was Renato’s job to have it fixed, just as he replaced the stolen car seats. Not that he did these things himself. His driver Yusef came to the house and drove the car away sitting on a crate. I believe he found my seats at the flea market and bought them back. The broken car window was easier to fix.

The broken car window blog will be next.