A Three-Hour Dour

From Jeremy:

When I was just in Chicago for the first time, one of the first jobs I had was working at the Organic Theater box office. The theater was rented out for a production of "Gilligan's Island, The Musical." It was terrrrrible. (Sample lyric: "Hey little buddy, that's terrific. / You just spelled 'hieroglyphic!'")

But they were spending money and hiring Equity actors, and the theater was broke, so there it was. The cast was extremely game, by which I mean they tried hard. The songs were gamey, by which I mean they stank. And the book was worse. The show was panned. I'd say it was "brutalized," but all the reviews were doing was telling it like it was. Not a good show. And the houses were small, and got smaller over the eight week run.

All the actors were imports except for two of the leads. One day late in the run, I was in the box office and one of the local leads was walking in. (I'm not protecting the guilty -- I just don't remember the actor's name, and I doubt he put it on his resume.) I waved hello, but he didn't see me. His head was down, and he was muttering.

As he passed the window, I heard what he was saying, over and over. "An actor has to eat. An actor has to eat. An actor has to eat."