Hello, Pippin!

So the other night I pulled out my dvd of "Pippin."  About once a year I feel the need to commune with the man looking for some sort of direction in his life.  The Loved One wasn't home when I started watching it and, when he did arrive, looked at me like I had four heads for watching it.  That's ok.  I love it.  He loves Madonna.

I was first introduced to "Pippin" by my high school AP English teacher in junior year.  I was home over some break with chicken pox.  The first few marks started to make an appearance and I wasn't feeling well.  I pointed them out to my mom who immediately knew what they were but my dad, convinced I was faking, said they were pimples.  Let it be known, that I was a fan of playing sick for years because I didn't like school all that much -- except for English class and play practice (which we adults now call "rehearsal").  I especially didn't like school if I hadn't translated our daily 25 lines of Virgil's Aeneid or The Frogs by whatever Greek guythat was (brek-ek-ek-ek-koax koax) and later turned into an awfully dull Stephen Sondheim musical at Lincoln Center.

The chicken pox came at a most unfortunate time because I was about to start practice for our spring production of "Hello, Dolly!"  Yes, even though I went to an all boy's private high school the genius behind our drama club decided to do a show in which a female was the lead.  I had fought hard for the role of Vandergelder.  Unfortunately, although I tipped the scale at a whopping 200lbs, I had a baby face and a nice temper.  I had yet to touch the anger dwelling too-deep under the surface.   So I was cast in the ensemble and as understudy to Ambrose Kemper, the painter.  I was understudy because the boy playing the role (Skippy Something-or-other) was on a family vacation for break and I was to fill in during that time.  Glamorous.  Meanwhile my best friend, as always, was cast in the lead.

So I'm at home covered in pox and missing my one big chance to prove how good I am.  High school teacher recommends I watch "Pippin", among many other things.  So I do.  And I fall in love.  Having seen the Debbie Allen revival of "Sweet Charity" this is not my first introduction to Bob Fosse's work.  But it's the first time I get it.  My hormones were going crazy and the pure sexuality of the production was eye-opening.  And I felt an immediate connection to the boy who didn't know where to find a home.  It didn't hurt that I also had a crush on William Katt who ran around half-naked most of the time.  So I sat on the couch watching the video over and over again.  When it wasn't playing I was wondering what kind of fun my friends were having at practice and what I was missing.  Would I ever be able to catch up and fit in?  What if the choreography for "It Takes a Woman" was especially complicated?  These thoughts kept me up at night.

Finally, after about two weeks, I was well-enough to return.  And guess what?  I was bumped up to PLAYING the role of Ambrose Kemper.  Me and Tommy Tune, twins.  Yes, it seems that Skippy's lack of dedication to the Cape and Sword was too trying on our director and he needed someone more dependable.  Well, roles have been won on much less.  And now, Fosse choreography duly memorized, I was certain I would be an asset to this production.

I was.  I was fantastic.  And I got to wear a pink suit.  Because Ambrose was an artist.