Hi-Ho, the Glamorous Life: Catching Up with Corinne Proctor

Marissa Skudlarek, with the first ever Hi-Ho the Glamorous Life interview!

I first became acquainted with the delightful singer-actress Corinne Proctor in 2011, when I went to see a staged reading of the new trip-hop musical Ozma of Oz at the Cutting Ball Theater. Corinne stole the show as a sassy, talking, rapping chicken (complete with hand puppet). Later that night, following a party in a bohemian loft of the kind that I thought existed only in New York, the two of us belted out “Cabaret” on the streets of SoMa at 2 AM. Definitely a night to remember!

Corinne moved to New York about two years ago, but fortunately for her friends and fans in the Bay Area, the San Francisco Playhouse has brought her back here twice. She played Little Red Riding Hood in their production of Into the Woods this summer, and is currently starring as Marge MacDougall in their holiday production of Promises, Promises. Marge is a kooky barfly who hits on the musical’s heartbroken hero, Chuck Baxter (Jeffrey Brian Adams) at the start of Act Two. It’s a brief but notoriously scene-stealing role: both Marian Mercer, who played Marge in the original production, and Katie Finneran, who played her in the 2010 Broadway revival, won Tony Awards for it. Playing Marge is also special for Corinne because it marks her first role as a member of Actors’ Equity — “I’m overjoyed to have an asterisk of my own [by my name in the playbill],” she says.

I caught up with Corinne recently to chat about holidays, stage names, and how to throw a swingin’ office party.

Marissa: You’re originally from the East Coast: you grew up in Maryland and went to college in Upstate New York. What brought you out to the Bay Area after college?

Corinne: I wish I could pretend it was something cooler, but the truth is I ran out of money after spending my first year after college living outside Boston, and this is where my parents lived at the time. My mom was heading to our place in Florida (my parents are both there permanently now) so I moved in with my dad. I really miss that SOMA condo. I used to be able to walk to SF Playhouse!

Marissa: Then, about two years ago, you relocated to New York City. What prompted you to move back East?

Corinne: I had always been planning to save money to move to NYC by living with my dad and working full-time, which I did virtually the entire three years I lived here. I might have moved sooner if the Bay Area theater scene hadn’t been so wonderfully loving and fun and so incredibly kind to me, especially Susi Damilano and Bill English at S.F. Playhouse. I kept thinking I’d move when I hit a slump, but I ended up having incredibly good fortune. The longest I went without knowing what my next gig would be was five days. (I can’t resist bragging about that, haha.) I also just fell in love with my life out here, and it was definitely hard for me to leave. Then, in 2012, my dad was relocating to Houston and I knew it was time for me to finally make the move. I was in My Fair Lady at SF Playhouse at the time, and toward the end of that run I was living alone in the condo with no furniture except an air mattress!

Marissa: If any of our readers are Bay Area residents contemplating a move to the Big Apple, what advice would you give them to help them make that transition?

Corinne: HAVE LOTS OF MONEY. But no, seriously. I had saved about $20,000 and I can tell you that it didn’t last me a year. Now, I don’t claim that I was living off peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but I wasn’t having pheasant under glass for dinner every night either. Plan to drop upwards of $3,000 in order to get into an apartment. Someone who grew up in California might also have some culture shock, but since I spent the first two decades of my life on the East Coast I’m very used to the quicker, louder pace.

Marissa: Many Bay Area actors, especially those in your demographic (young and female) agonize long and hard over whether or not to join Equity. Was this ever a concern for you? If so, did it become less of an issue when you moved to New York?

Corinne: Many people wanted me to be more worried about joining Equity, but I have to tell you I barely thought twice about it. (If I were staying in the Bay Area, I might have given a bit more pause, but I won’t swear to it.) I’d been working consistently as a non-Equity actor since 2008, and I was ready to take it to the next level. Particularly in New York, being non-Equity is super rough — although being an EMC (Equity Membership Candidate) does get you on a slightly better waiting list.

The one and only, Corinne Proctor.

Marissa: I know that one of Equity’s rules is that no two members can have the same stage name. I suppose it’s pretty unlikely that there would be another Equity actress called “Corinne Proctor,” but if you’d needed to choose a different stage name, what would you have done?

Corinne: Haha, I had a lot of fun thinking about this, of course. Because I speak Spanish, I thought about taking my paternal grandmother’s maiden name, Gomes. It’s actually a Portuguese name, but I thought maybe it would help me be considered for roles where I could employ that skill. Of course I always could have tried “Cori” instead of Corinne. Another family name I thought about was my mother’s maiden name, which is Gormley. Then again, there’s always that old trick of taking your middle name and the name of the street you grew up on, in which case I’d be Elizabeth Greenwood — very Old Hollywood, don’t you think?

Marissa: As Marge in Promises, Promises, you make drunken-dancing and tipsy comedy look easy, but what are the biggest challenges of playing this scene-stealing role?

Corinne: You are sweet to say so! I am certainly having a ton of fun and am super lucky to be onstage with the extremely talented Jeffrey Brian Adams. I’ve stayed nervous so much longer for this role than any other I’ve played, and I think it’s because I have all of Act I to build anxiety, and because I spend such a short amount of time onstage that it’s hard to really get comfortable or used to it. (In the end, I think that serves me well in terms of keeping it fresh.) Comedy is so hard in a way that’s hard to put a finger on. Every audience is different and it seems like the smallest shift in line delivery can take something from hysterical to boring. In all, I guess timing/navigating the laughs is the biggest challenge.

Corinne Proctor as Marge MacDougall in Promises, Promises — vodka stinger in hand. Photo by Jessica Palopoli.

Marissa: In Promises, Promises, Marge gets drunk on vodka stingers. Did you drink any of these as research for the role? What’s in a vodka stinger, anyway?

Corinne: I am fully committed to important character research such as this. My professionalism cannot be doubted since I willingly consumed crème de menthe mixed with vodka for the sake of my art. Yes, that’s what’s in a vodka stinger — crème de menthe and vodka. My only thought is that it’s for people who want to get drunk in a bar and still have minty-fresh breath if anyone hot shows up. And if you think that’s gross, consider this: the reason “vodka” is specified in the drink name is because the original “stinger” is brandy and crème de menthe.

Marissa: They also must have been associated with a certain type of woman during that time period: Joanne in Company, which came out two years after Promises, Promises, drinks vodka stingers too. (Joanne’s a lot angrier and more cynical than Marge is, but they’re both well-to-do, drunkenly promiscuous Manhattanites.)

Corinne: Honestly, though, the vodka stinger was surprisingly drinkable despite being inherently disgusting. It kind of reminded me of the spearmint snow-cones that used to be served at our community pool.

Marissa: Still, it doesn’t sound like vodka stingers will become your drink of choice any time soon. What do you typically order at the bar?

Corinne: CHAMPAGNE! But, of course, that is too expensive for starving actresses, so I am usually seen at the White Horse with a Trumer Pils. I’ve also been known to enjoy a Hendrick’s Gin on the rocks, or any drink that is free.

Marissa: At this point, the Bay Area is your “home away from home.” What are you looking forward to doing in San Francisco this festive season?

Corinne: I love being back here! I’ve been having a lot of fun going to my old haunts and seeing friends. In terms of holiday cheer, I’m currently accepting applications for ice skating partners… doesn’t anyone else like to do cheesy things like that?

Marissa: Is it hard to stay connected to loved ones when you’re in a show and can’t go home for the holidays?

Corinne: This will be my third Christmas where I’m in the Bay Area doing a show and everyone else in my family is in Florida. My family is fantastically nerdy, so we do a reading of A Christmas Carol every year. When I can’t be there, I Skype in — usually as Marley’s Ghost, which is fitting for someone who’s not really in the room.

Marissa: Apart from Promises, Promises, what’s your favorite holiday show? And what’s the movie that you HAVE to watch every Christmas?

Corinne: I guess I like holiday movies better than holiday shows. I’m not terribly familiar with the stage versions of most of them. But you know what, haters? I really like seeing various versions of A Christmas Carol. That said, I can be super picky about them. As for movies, THE one for my brother and me is Muppet Family Christmas. NOT Muppet Christmas Carol — MUPPET. FAMILY. CHRISTMAS. This article from AV Club nails it.

Marissa: Several of us Theater Pub folks will be involved in Stuart Bousel’s production of The Desk Set next summer — which, like Promises, Promises, is a mid-century Manhattan workplace comedy that features a wild office Christmas party. Got any tips or advice for us?

Corinne: There’s no such thing as too big when it comes to hair, ladies. Bump it, tease it, rock it. Otherwise, I feel wild partying is solidly in the skill set of most theater people. Tell the men they have a free pass on butt pinching and ta-da! It’s mid-century!

Marissa: Corinne, it was a pleasure catching up with you and even more of a pleasure to see you back onstage in the Bay Area! Happy Holidays and best wishes for 2015!

Promises, Promises runs at the San Francisco Playhouse through January 10. Tickets here. If you’d like to hear more from Corinne Proctor, check out her contributions to Theater Pub’s roundtable on Into the Woods.

Marissa Skudlarek is a San Francisco-based playwright and arts writer. Find her blogging at marissabidilla.blogspot.com or on Twitter @MarissaSkud.

It’s A Suggestion, Not A Review: Thoughts on Garbage and Being Young and Stupid

Dave Sikula, Garbage Aficionado.

One of my many quirks is that I’m a sucker for Garbage Theatre. Pretty much anyone who’s worked with me will know about Garbage Theatre, but I’ll take the liberty of explaining it here.

First some necessary background. In my early 20s, I was part of the company at the Southern California Conservatory Theatre at Cerritos College, down in Norwalk. SCCT (as it was fondly known) began as an experiment in summer theatre and training. The goal was to hire a bunch of young actors, have them attend classes in the morning, rehearse in the afternoon, and perform in the evenings. It seemed workable since we were all young and full of energy (and stupid, probably). While things started off with the best of intentions, young actors being what they are, people started skipping classes to sleep in or screw around, and more time than anticipated was needed to rehearse the shows. The productions turned out pretty well, or at least good enough that the school district ponied up the dough for a second and even a third season, the finale of which was “Fiddler on the Roof.”

Starring in “Fiddler” was Claude File, who was the Tevye of your dreams. Warm, funny, and human, he knocked it out of the park every night. The rest of the show was pretty good, too, in spite of a set that our choreographer (correctly) slammed as “looking like a forest fire” and some bizarre direction. Our director was (and I swear this is his real name) Fred Fate. Fred was brought to the college as a guest director, and through guile, cunning, and his supreme con-man skills, took over the department. He wasn’t a bad director, though; you just had to cut through the bullshit.

Among Fred’s brainstorms was that he wanted “If I Were a Rich Man” to be about Tevye interacting with the whole town, which undercut the purpose of the number. I played Avram, and was blocked to sit on a staircase, reading a newspaper. Well, as Fred saw the number wasn’t working as he’d intended, he cut more and more people from it, until it was down to just Claude performing the number and me sitting there, reading the paper, neither of us reacting to the other. I’m sure the audience was waiting for some payoff – or even some reason – but it never came; to this day, I don’t know why I was in that number. (This also the production that featured Claude substituting a lyric in “Sunrise, Sunset.” In the number, Perchik and Hodel sing the line “Is there a canopy in store for me?” Well, Claude insisted on it being “Is there a can of peas in this store for me?” I was standing way up right on a platform of the forest fire set, and Claude was way down left on the deck, but every night, when we came to that line, we would turn to each other and exchange a knowing, tearful look. (I still sing that lyric today whenever I hear the song.)

The fourth season’s finale was Lerner and Loewe’s “Paint Your Wagon.” In the run-up to that season, Fred Fate (whom I realized I should have described; think of a gymnastic, energetic, and blond Moe Howard) was giving interviews and sending out press releases. One of his selling points was Claude File. Fred said something about the company having brilliant directors, fascinating shows, great designers, and a talented company, including “the actor Claude File.” From that moment, poor Claude was marked. To this day, he is known among our circle as “The Actor Claude File.”

So, we’re beginning rehearsals for “Paint Your Wagon.” The more we got into the nuts and bolts of it, though, the more we realized what a terrible show it was. I’ll admit I’m not the biggest fan of Lerner and Loewe (I think “My Fair Lady” is way overwritten – do we really need all fifteen verses of “Get Me to the Church on Time?” – and at least a half-hour too long; “Camelot” is notoriously unfinished – and it shows; and “Brigadoon” is just a bore), but they’re brand names and “Wagon” is rarely done – for good reasons.

The plot is absurd – and was completely jettisoned for the ill-fated movie version (“I never miss a Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin musical”). It concerns an itinerant gold miner named Ben Rumson. Rumson is a widower with a daughter named Jennifer, and one day, he strikes it rich in the California Gold Rush. He founds a town, and Jennifer soon becomes the only woman in town, a situation that unnerves all 400 of the men who live there. Jennifer falls in love with a Mexican native who is forced to live outside the town because of racial prejudice and plot requirements. Eventually a Mormon with two wives comes into town, and everything devolves into vague plot points about selling wives, native legends, and Rumson being restless and needing to move on. It really is a mess and makes about that much sense.

This was the show, though, that was the ground zero of Garbage Theatre. Garbage Theatre is sort of an offshoot of Coarse Acting. In that summer, many of us were exposed for the first time (by The Actor Claude File, probably) to Michael Green’s book, “The Art of Coarse Acting.” Green describes a coarse actor as “one who can remember his lines, but not the order in which they come … Often the scenery will fall down. Sometimes the (theatre) may fall down. Invariably his tights will fall down. He will usually be playing three parts … His aim is to upstage the rest of the cast. His hope is to be dead by Act II so that he can spend the rest of his time in the bar. His problems? Everyone else connected with the production.” This book became our Bible.

Following Green’s precepts, little bits of business began creeping into rehearsal. This is nothing new; it happens in every show. The wise director will keep the ones that are appropriate and help the show and jettison the ones that do neither. But this show needed all the help it could get, so everything stayed in – and that is Garbage Theatre. As I always explain it, “Garbage Theatre takes its metaphor from Sylvester the cat in “Looney Tunes” and “Merrie Melodies.” Sylvester could frequently be found scrounging through alleys with a garbage-can lid in one hand as he rooted through garbage cans with the other hand. As he went through those cans, he’d pick out little bits of food (fish skeletons, etc.) and place them on the lid. The Garbage Actor does much the same thing. As he or she rehearses, they’ll accumulate gags and little bits of business. If they work, you keep them. If they don’t, you keep them because they might work later.”

To call it “Garbage” Theatre makes it sound like a pejorative, but don’t let that fool you. I love garbage and actors who can pull it off are among my heroes. And it’s not even a matter of “Oh they’re bad actors, but they can do funny things;” no, it’s that they’re skilled and good actors who are capable of genius. Most of them are great clowns – Nathan Lane, Danny Burstein, Bert Lahr, Jennifer Coolidge, Martin Short – but there are plenty of “serious” actors – John Barrymore, Kevin Kline, David Dukes – who are masters of it, too. I love Garbage and only aspire to its heights.

So, garbage started to sneak into rehearsals (I think it started with The Actor Claude File giving his character a completely unnecessary and irrelevant stammer), and soon everyone caught the bug. We were just doing bits and gags that had nothing to do with the plot or story, but had everything to do with keeping ourselves amused. Now, please note, we never got away from telling the story as best as we could; it’s just that the story was so badly told initially that our garbage helped it along.

The most egregious incidents I remember are these (I’m sure others will have competing memories): There was a tech rehearsal in the theatre that was really, really full of garbage. Everyone was hitting on all cylinders, and things were getting more and more out of control. My most vivid memory is of one of the actors standing behind the bar of a Gold Rush saloon making real margaritas in a blender. That’s garbage of a high order.

To be continued next time …