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Following on from the Bushy Fade, I’ve remembered an old theatre joke that describe’s Ian’s habit perfectly.
A famous singer agreed to appear at an evening gala concert held in her local village hall in aid of the church fund. She called in during the afternoon and found the caretaker.
“Now,” she said to him, “when I come on-stage I want the lights to dim leaving just one spot tight on my face. As I begin my first number, build the lights to full with mainly straw- and gold-coloured filters predominating.
“At the end of that number, fade to blackout, pause two seconds and then build to full again, this time in cool blue for my sad song. No blackout at end, just a cross-fade into deep golds for my final number.
“Slowly tighen down to that one spot during the song so that within ten bars of the end the stage is entirely dark apart from my face. At the close, go to blackout and immediately up into full light for my bows.”
And the world-weary caretaker replied, “Does that mean you want the light switch up or down?”
He could well have been related to Ian !
Aha! another memory, this time from techie Ian Bushrod. I’ll expand on his valuable contribution to the theatre a little later but I must explain his “Bushy fade” comment.
At the close of every performance, the houselights came on so the audience could see to leave, and some walk-out music would be quietly played and the front-of-house lights left on dim just to dress the main curtains.
Sometimes a few folk would remain seated (to discuss the show and often to avoid the initial crush in the bar and the slow-moving cars leaving the drive).
Once the techies had pretty much put the control room to bed we’d gently fade the sound and lights out in what we hoped was a suitably professional manner. But not if Ian was on the controls they weren’t!
The (in)famous Bushy Fade consisted of simply cutting power to sound and lights, leaving just the auditorium lights up! Subtle, not!
One emotion shared by all the cast on the shows down the years was mild panic at being so very close to the front row of the audience; if standing downstage at the apron the poor saps were less than six feet from the patrons occupying Row A. The very close proximity meant there was nowhere to hide if lines were forgotten, and the costumes and set also had to be produced to a very high quality.
We had problems, too, if a following scene was being set behind the midcloth while the current one was running. The stage shared with the auditorium a very sharp and clear accoustic – good for actors’ voice projection but worrying for any (sometimes) leaden-footed stage crew pussyfooting their way across a dimly-lit upstage area especially if heavy furniture had to be shifted on or off. Not only would it be rather embarrassing for the audience to have heard anguished whispers emenating from seemingly nowhere, but of course such “noises off” could be so distracting for the actors downstage.
(These grandiloquent stage terms make the theatre sound much larger than it in fact was: there will soon be a separate section in this website detailing the, er, bijou area within which such memorable magic as Jackie refers to above was created. As they say, “you really had to be there…”)Hi Neil! Thanks for finding the time to visit us and share memories. I remember you well, not only for your superb acting (send money soon!) but for your height on-stage relative to others in the cast.
You and a few more tall actors used to give me headaches on lighting as I had to continually fade down & up any lights beneath which you passed to avoid your noble bonce seemingly flashing on and off like a belisha beacon.
That, in turn, would cause problems with unwanted shadows falling onto backcloths, especially those painted to depict country views. If there’s one thing guaranteed to ruin an effect, it’s a distracting shadow on seemingly distant scenes.
I didn’t always just sit idle in the control room guzzling Guinness, you know!