 Director's Notes 
Two B's, or not two B's? That was the question in mid-March, the day after Brigadoon closed (the 2003 Spring play for Hudson Catholic High School). I was feeling my usual sobby self after a show is over and done with - particularly the more intense shows - and wondering what in the world I was going to do with myself. (In case it wasn't supremely evident, I'm one of those types that needs a project to keep myself sane. Really rather like why I'm contentedly making this web page! ;) So my sister, Julie dragged me out for a walk through our favorite *ahem* haunt, the cemetary down the road. It's a lovely half-mile or so ramble, through an area large enough for one to imagine oneself not surrounded by cement. There Jules fatefully proposed this: "Why not do Bearskin?" Now, understand, I've had this idea to work out Bearskin - along with King Thrushbeard and most recently The Twelve Dancing Princesses - as some form of stage production. All three are fairy tales as recounted by the Brothers Grimm, which matches my obsession with that art form that almost became my senior thesis and certainly grounded my novel Niamh and the Hermit. Which is to say, the idea appealed to me. "We could do it as a ballet," Julie continued. I had only just recently discovered via Brigadoon that I could choreograph - or at least, tell a story only through motion, thanks to the Maggie/Harry dance. "That way," my sister pressed, "you could continue to work on that and you wouldn't have to write any music, just choose some." "But what would the story be?" I asked. The original Bearskin (or rather, the version the Brothers recorded) seems to begin in medias res. (Click here to read a translation of that tale.) Why was Bearskin at the wars? Why did he feel it necessary to make a contract with the Devil? Why did he stop the merchant from committing suicide? Simply put, I wanted to know more. So during the course of that afternoon, as we wandered the grounds, Julie and I came up with the first tentative synopsis of what would eventually become Bearskin. (To read the synopsis, click here.) And oh, it sounded so easy!
The Write and the Long of It I don't remember quite when we decided to add original songs to Bearskin. A few months prior, I had written the melody for "The Man without a Face," which I knew even then was meant to be in Bearskin, sung by the main character, after he had made the pact with the devil. But all I had was the first verse - nothing else. I was stuck. We were downstairs playing the piano and Jules suggested that I run the song by my good friend Annie McAndrew with whom I co-wrote Titanic on the Roof. Annie is amazing, quick as a minute she came up with verses two through four of "Man without a Face," as well as a verse for the "evil" version of "Sing me a Song, Love." For you see, what had happened was that once we agreed that "Man without a Face" ought to be in the show, it would be pretty silly to have only one sung song...why not conjure up a few more? Accordingly, I went through all the songs I've ever written that weren't already claimed for something else, and Julie helped yea or nay them. I wrote up a synopsis which Sharon, a fellow screenwriter, critiqued, suggesting means to make the ending a bit more smooth than it was. And I set to work writing new music for Bearskin and...gulp...orchestrating. Now, if only we had actors...! Wooing the Shadow While formulating our ideas about how to produce an opera ballet (called at one time a balletta. Oy! Names are still under consideration), one of the things we hit upon was the idea of splitting up the main characters into their Body and their Soul. The idea was twofold. First, this way we could have one actor who was vocally strong and the other physically athletic and so play upon their best attributes without having to search for two triple threats. Second, it fit in perfectly with the idea that this was a story about a man who - in our case - physically sells his Soul to the devil. The concept is not new. Post-modern theatre has been particularly intrigued by the doppleganger (a person's "double") thanks to the likes of Freud and his ilk. But while most post-modernists tend to take this to depressing depths, thus makng the very use of dopplegangers appear "unwholesome" to more "traditional" audiences, it is still an excellent theatrical device. By allowing the Soul to be on the stage with the Body, the audience can see how we interact with ourselves - when we struggle against temptation, when we are of "two minds" about something, when we "fight with ourselves." Furthermore, as a director I could show memory on stage, such as in the tango, when the Bodies begin the dance, and then are joined by their Souls as the characters remember their emotions. When are the Body and Soul in unity? When working against each other? When protecting one another? When are they "visible" to another Soul? In the case of Bearskin, the Souls - or Voices - played a significant part. They also had to be fabulous singers. Fortunately, the Marlborough/Hudson area of MA is rife with such talent. And even more fortunately, they were willing to let this crazy director get her tenterhooks into them!
(c) 2003
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