Invoking the Costumer's Rule

Robbi was a hell of an actress. Maybe not quite as good as she thought she was, but very good withal. She was also not quite as svelte as she would have liked to be. Not to put too fine a point upon it, but she was a tad wide in some areas, and a tad droopy in others. Usually, one didn't notice this, as she had a beautiful face, a small waist, and dressed extremely well. She also had the longest, waviest, thickest, most gorgeous auburn hair I have ever seen.

In short, in the right clothes, Robbi was a knockout.

A very out-of-the way theater in these parts decided to do "The Shadow Box," a rather depressing little drama about dying. The script tried to be uplifting, and, in the right hands, it might have succeeded. It wasn't in the right hands. There had been three people drop out and four stage managers before we even started rehearsals. Robbi was cast as Beverly, the former wife of a gay man who is dying of an unspecified but incurable disease.

I suppose I should explain that the play is structured in three vignettes that are occurring simultaneously. The action takes place in a Hospice. The gay man is being cared for by his present partner. Beverly shows up, and an interesting power struggle ensues.

We had what is called a "pre-production meeting" with the cast, crew, and director. The costumer was the director's mother, a professional costume designer. At the meeting Robbi, ever willing to be "high maintenance," announced that she thought she should wear black. I was sitting there, waiting for the director to tell her that such decisions would be made by herself and the costume designer, when the need arose. Robbi pushed the question, and the director hummed and hawed. Finally, the costumer popped, and said, "Oh, for heaven's sake! You can't wear black, Robbi, because the set will be black. If you wear black, you will disappear!" Robbi retired with a bad case of the sulks. She seemed to think that, as she wanted to wear black, the set design needed to be completely rethought.

The upshot was that when the designer was done with Robbi's costume, it was plum coloured (not a good choice for Robbi), and required two dressers, four safety pins and it's own undergarment.

And was totally unbecoming, to boot.

The Costumer's rule became the Costumer's Revenge.