It wasn’t from Amazon, which parcels normally are, and when I say mail, it was delivered, but had no postage mark nor commercial receipt, and no return address.

It was wrapped in thirteen layers of ordinary brown paper. The box itself was a dark, heavy wood the color of mahogany but smelled of peppermint. And a letter, a real-life, written-in-ink on old parchment letter lay on top of the wooden box, sealed with an ornate design showing the letter P mirroring itself, stamped in a dark purple wax that I swear glows in the twilight.

The letter was short, but engaging:

Dear Mr. Lasko,
Thousands of times has the Pied Piper  been told, but never has anyone included my part and my prize, until now. Thank you.

Please return the included at your earliest convenience. We have much to discuss,
you and I.

Your Servant, 

Berebus Pock.

I opened the peppermint mahogany box and there, amidst a sea of purple velvet, lay a beautiful music pipe of old, dark wood.

It had nine holes, one more than the modern recorder and much larger but not as long as I had pictured the Pied Piper’s to be. But of course, its owner was not speaking of the stranger with a hopeful whistle, but of a different pipe, a smaller pipe, a pipe made of an old crutch that came from a boy with no longer

a clip-clop, a pipe I thought only existed in my imagination. But here, now, this Berebus Pock is suggesting that he, in reality, is that Mayor’s son!

Now I understand that this all sounds pretty fantastic and a little preposterous and I would have a serious mind to call it a clever and wonderful hoax, except for one not so minor incident that makes me  believe more than doubt that it is everything it portends to be...

I played it. And the feeling was, in a word, magical. Rats didn't come out of the woodwork, and children didn't flock to my feet, but this wasn't that pipe, remember.  This pipe had healed a small boy from a bad leg when a certain song was played. And no, my hairline didn't return, but on the table beside me where my wife had caught a spider under a glass the night before and hadn't moved for hours began to wriggle and jump, as if it were dancing. Coincidence? What kind of an example would I be if I were to ignore such a thing?

The problem is, he asks me to return his pipe, but gives me no return address. Instead, on the thirteen layers of brown paper in which the peppermint mahogany box was wrapped were drawings and poems and stories and arrows pointing this way and that. My gut tells me that these are my maps to wherever he is.

This will take some time. So while I am rehearsing for Jekyll & Hyde, I will be searching his clues, looking for Berebus Pock. LaskoVision will be on hiatus for a while, but I imagine, when this is all over, there will be much to write about.

In the meantime, I will continue posting about my experiences in the theatrical production of Jekyll & Hyde. You can also find a link to the existing StoryWeaver episodes, including The Pied Piper to which Mr. Pock has referred, on the side bar of this page. Also, if you need to contact me for any reaason regarding LaskoVision,

Check for updates every now and again. This feels like a real adventure!

-Danny Lasko

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I called my cast and offered them their respective parts. Some of those that had auditioned and were offered significant roles turned me down flat. I couldn’t blame them. I had them waiting so long, I’m sure they forgot all about it and made other plans. I admit that I had, in fact, written the opening about four times. The current opening had the Phantom coming out immediately, and singing to Christine, the love of his life for reasons due to her voice, her face, and I’m sure, her body. They sang “Phantom of the Opera” together which really opened the show with power. When Christine hits her high whatever at the end of the song, a beautiful woman steps out from the shadows.

“Hello,” said the beautiful stranger.
“You!” exclaimed a very surprised Phantom.
“Am I interrupting anything?”
“I told you never to come here!”
“Christine, is it? You can go now.”
“How dare you!” The Phantom’s pretty upset now.
“Move along.”
“How dare you interfere with my plan!”
“I’ve seen your plan, and frankly, it doesn’t end up very well for you.”
“You know nothing of my plans.”
“You brought Christine, whom you have molded and trained since she was a child, down here to your labyrinth to seduce her, to teach her your music, so she can sing your opera, only to be thwarted when her heart turns to someone else and leaves you broken; crying over a music box shaped like a barrel organ.”
Pause. The Phantom turns to Christine.
“You may go.”
A verily confused Christine says, “I feel like I’m getting shortchanged here.”

And then we never see her again. And not just anyone can play that part since it has a high whatever, and that moment cannot be shortchanged either. Fortunately a young woman whom I had never seen before and never seen since, for that matter, appeared ideal for the part. Two weeks after she had auditioned I emailed her asking her to play Christine.

I never heard back from her. I believe what happened was that she was part of a covert operation dedicated to stopping certain illegal attacks on the US. She was the key undercover element in a certain program and has lived the past year in Bahrain. That seems to be the most reasonable theory to date, so I’m sticking to it. Back to the story.

It wasn’t that I didn’t think anyone else could play the part. It was more, it gave me opportunity to rethink, once again, the opening. I went back to “Into the Woods.” In that opening, which is far more clever and streamlined than mine would ever be, opened introducing all the main characters, in succession, and their stories. It made a lot of sense because with that background, I could more easily bring the audience with me when the stories went off kilter. I decided to do the same thing. And with great enthusiasm. I put together a montage of the music of the main characters. Jekyll first, then Belle, then Joseph, then Elphaba, who is told she has been summoned by the powerful, yet mysterious Phantom of the Opera. Seemed reasonable enough. Seemed strong enough to get the audience involved. Abbreviated opening numbers from each of the shows I was pulling from seemed to work wonderfully, apart from segues between the songs in the opening medley were annoyingly choppy, and unless someone knew the shows, would have really no way of relating to them at all. I needed someone to proverbially say, “Once upon a time.” I needed the narrator.

“Joseph” had a narrator. So did “Into the Woods”. So did “Fiddler on the Roof,” sort of, but it came down to two reasons to choose Joseph’s narrator. First, it was a whole lot easier for me to rewrite one line of the opening song to match my storyline than to rewrite the entire opening medley to fit Into the Woods (not nearly clever or creative enough) and second, we had many more girls than guys who could sing. So after a battle between two very talented and wonderful young women, Jill Grange became our Narrator. The funny thing about Jill is that she wasn’t supposed to do the show. She didn’t want to do the show. She didn’t have the time or inclination to commit, was getting over an illness and didn’t feel physically up for it, and, I’m sure, thought the show was going to be just a little more than the Shakespeare project. In the end, she became one of the key components for the success of the show both on and off the stage. But I’ll get to that later.

I scheduled the first read-through for the first weekend of July. No, the show hadn’t been written yet, but I had two weeks and a firm deadline. I had my cast, most of it anyway, and I had the beginnings of a story. Didn’t have a venue. Didn’t know what I was going to do about props, costumes, or anything else. But I went ahead as though I had all the money in the world and that the world itself was dying to see this show. So, eight weeks after that first encounter with the brunette cultural arts co-chair, I began, in earnest, to write what would become “Another Story to Tell.”

That’s not exactly true. I began, in earnest, to listen to the mountains of original Broadway and London cast recordings of everything from West Side Story to Mama Mia. From Singin’ in the Rain to Dracula. Anything and everything I could find except for a few I simply ignored. I even looked at music from “Big River” (a fantastic musical, by the way, and one of Alex’s specialties) about the story of Huck Finn and “You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown.” Not only did it give me a catalogue to work with, it helped me mold the story to what was available. Once that was finished or at least, once I had decided enough was enough, I sat down and wrote “Another Story to Tell.”

The first thing I had to do was set the ground rules for this universe. I was combining characters from multiple stories from different universes with different rules. Obviously “Wicked’s” rules would be far different that Phantom of the Opera’s. But there were similarities. All of the stories, even “Joseph”, had a fantastical element to them. Each character had some goal and some conflict. And, most importantly, they were all stories.

So the first rule, I decided, was that these characters were consciously aware that they were in a story that was read by others. And that it would kind of be like “What was going on in this particular moment when the camera or the words weren’t focused on the character?” So what was going on with Joseph, when his Brothers were telling their father he was killed by a wild beast? Or what was happening in Belle’s room when the Beast was dreading his next encounter with him? That kind of thing.

The second rule was, nothing in the original stories could be changed. In other words, there had to be some kind of “Freeze Time” effect that would prevent their stories to be rewritten. Can’t mess with the original story. They know that they belong in their story and they know other stories exist, though travel between stories is virtually impossible. And, if their story was written after other stories, they are familiar with all the others stories that came before.

The third rule was that if any character did meet up with characters from other stories, they would have the power to influence them, just as in real life. Because no author had written a role or a purpose for them in a certain universe, they were free to do what they want. But they would never be out of character. So if, say if Joseph fell in love with Belle, he could. And if they wanted to get married, have children, make coats of many colors for them all, they could.

The last rule, which ties into rule number two and three is that they only had three days of freedom. Then back they’d go to their own story, just as it was, remembering nothing of their adventures in someone else’s story.

Cool, huh?

But those four rules helped me govern the story, keep it lawful in some way, and give me limitations for the characters. Whatever Elphaba had to do, she had to do it in three days, or it was back to “Wicked” for her. Whatever romances were created would be swept from the pages in a mere 72 hours. When the clock strikes 12 at the third midnight. It was a decent start. It created a sense of urgency to the plot, whatever that plot was, and gave me a great sense of excitement to write the story.

I put the writing off. But not for long. A quick Madden 2004 break. It was my way of clearing my head. Nothing helps you feel more in control when you beat the Cincinnati Bengals coached by Mike Martz (after St. Louis fired him for leading the Rams to 4-11 in two straight seasons) 87-12.

I really didn’t know much about stage musical structure. So I spent hours reading librettos trying to find patterns, similarities, anything I could use to put this thing on paper. In screenwriting, you have important plot points that incite the real story. Sometimes it’s just a look from one character to another. Other times it’s a tragic or thrilling or wonderful moment. It’s the same in a stage musical. Sort of. Except that it appears that in every show, this inciting incident is accompanied by a powerful, hopeful, make-or-break the actor song that expresses the character’s innermost desires. A hyper-reality monologue with a rousing chorus. In “Sound of Music” it’s ‘Confidence.’ In Jekyll & Hyde, it’s ‘This is the Moment’. And in “Wicked” it’s the “Wizard and I.” Elphaba is smart, clever, talented, but extremely different from everyone else which leaves her “jaded.” (I am SO clever!) Through no fault of her own, and with no effort by anyone, really, she is green. Really green. So green that you just can’t help but question the reality in which you find yourself. She’s lived with it all her life, but when she attends school at Shiz University, she reaches her tipping point and performs a public display of pretty cool magic. Most are freaked out. But a professor sees her talent for magic and infers that the Wonderful Wizard of Oz would make her part of his Cabinet.

One thing I wanted to do was to keep these characters, for the most part, at least as we get to know them, complete with the same attitudes, motivations, cynicisms, etc. I knew now that Elphaba was going to be the key to the story. The concept of wishes, dreams, and what we are willing to do or not do for them was going to be the subtext of the story. I knew this from the very beginning. Hers was the most universal conflict of all my conflicts. She was different. She was very different. Not just in skin, but she did things no one else did. And people like that are either well-loved, well-hated, or well-used. And Elphaba could be well-all of that. She would be hated by her peers, which would give her no reason NOT to leave them. She would already have this ideal of the Phantom because of the stories she’s heard. And finally, she would be loved. Probably by more than one. And probably in very different ways. But she would be the focal point of the story. Lyndsey’s voice will soar. And the green skin will be a fun gimmick that the audience will enjoy. Yes, the script will be about Elphaba.

But why would the Phantom call for her? And how? Back to “Into the Woods.” The structure of that show is ideal when it comes to putting together multiple stories. “Into the Woods” begins with a Witch who announces to her baker neighbor that curse is upon his household. And the way the curse could be lifted is by collecting certain items. The cloak as red as blood, the cow as white as milk, the hair as yellow as corn, and the slipper as pure as gold. Of course, all these items belong or are a part of other stories: Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Beanstalk, Rapunzel, and Cinderella. Brilliant. The Witch would create a potion or a spell that would allow the ugly hag to regain her beauty.

Why not try it again?

When Elphaba finally comes to the Phantom, he tells her, after seducing her with Music of the Night, that he has chosen her to become his apprentice which floors Elphaba. She loves the idea, but can’t understand how that is possible. He tells her to rely on faith, all will be revealed in due time. But to prove herself, capable, faithful, and willing, she needs to collect certain items:

A journal as sound as stone.
Water as sure as chance.
A Coat with colors sewn.
A Rose as fair as true romance.

Oh, you should have seen my giddiness when I came up with those.

Elphaba agrees and is sent on her way. Meanwhile, hiding in the shadows was the “Witch from Next Door”.

WITCH: Well, that takes care of that.
PHANTOM: What I don’t understand, woman, is why you can’t gather these items yourself?
WITCH: Witch!
PHANTOM: What?
WITCH: I told you to call me, Witch! But why do something yourself when others can do it for you? Oh, don’t worry. She’s well qualified.
PHANTOM: It is not her ability that concerns me. I have watched her long, this girl. Her story has not been easy. Nor will it get easier.
WITCH: Just like yours. Just like mine. She’ll agree in the end.
PHANTOM: And if she doesn’t?
WITCH: I’ll take matters into my own hands.

So now I have the Phantom and the Witch scheming, Elphaba out on a quest, and the audience wondering why and what it’s all for. Exactly where I want them to be.

The problem was, I didn’t know what it was all for either.

So far so good. Got some actors. Got the ball rolling on the venue. But I needed more actors. I needed volunteers as well. Costumes and sets, and backstage crew and a back massage every now and again wouldn’t be totally out of line either. So I again went to the auxiliaries and proposed my plan; specifically, I had two sign up sheets: one for auditions, one for volunteers. I first stood in front of the women and told them about the show. I felt like a moron.

Who would, in their right mind, believe that I can pull this off? I wasn’t even sure if I could, and here I was asking a group to put their faith in me, really just me, and help put on this show I was writing. I am astonished this thing ever got made.

One of the reasons, however, that I wasn’t laughed out of the room, two reasons, actually, was first, I’m not an idiot. I don’t think anyone who knows me would use that word to describe me. I’ve learned a few things as a presentation consultant and marketer about spinning a pitch to make it as enticing as possible. I couldn’t bet that this was my fanclub. I had friends, certainly. I was known to them, absolutely. But I couldn’t just go in and say, “I’m putting on this incredible production! Who’s with me?!”

That would have worked about as successfully as a Tom Crusie run for the U.S. Presidency. A couple of kooks might have followed me, but no one serious. But Tom isn’t crazy enough to run for President, and I wasn’t nearly crazy enough to think I’m cool enough to raise that kind of support all by myself. Instead, I enlisted the help of Webber and Menken and Wildhorn and Schwartz.

“The show will contain music from Beauty and the Beast, Phantom of the Opera, Joseph, Jekyll & Hyde, Suessical, and the new hit “Wicked”. At hearing the title “Wicked” I heard vocal sighs and gasps. I had them. The second reason I wasn’t laughed out of the room, I’m naturally charming.

The guys…bupkis.
It didn’t matter. The guys I needed I would have to talk to anyway. I expected that. Music and performance inclined guys are few and far between. But even so, I knew we had enough talent to get the show moving. I knew at least a couple of guys would show up to auditions who could play key roles. And a few others would join with special invitations. And I was hoping to be pleasantly blown away by a newcomer. But one fella had me concerned. He was last of the trio that I needed, before I felt I could really move on the show.

His name was Alex Boyé.

From the beginning, I had Alex in mind to be a part of it. In fact, it was because of Alex and Lyndsey that I thought that this show would be possible. Alex is a professional singer. Concerts and other performances are how he makes a living. He’s a recording artist with the largest local label, and has tasted the fame and notoriety of the largest bands in Europe. I wanted him to play The Phantom. I just didn’t know whether or not he would do it.

First, he was busy. Really busy. He had a strong following in just a short times since he had arrived on the scene here in Salt Lake after moving from London. Regional theaters were scheduling shows like Big River, Ragtime, Civil War and Aida, simply because they knew he was in the valley. And I wanted him to take three months out of his schedule to be in a ward play.
“I don’t know, man. All I’ve done so far is play slaves.”
“Yeah.”
“The Phantom ain’t a slave.”
“Nope.”
“I’ve never sung anything like this before.”
“You’ll rock. You’ll bring soul to the part.”
“A brother as The Phantom?”
“Benson did it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
A pause. Another pause. I sniffed again.
“Let’s do it.”

I still don’t understand why these extremely talented folks would be willing to take three months out of their time to do this show I hadn’t even written yet. They had no idea what the show was about because I didn’t even know what the show was about, exactly. What I do know was they weren’t doing it for me. They were doing it for our ward. They wanted to share their talents, for free, for the benefit of the Church. I have no idea if they would have said yes to someone else. I have no idea if anyone else would have been crazy or naive enough to think a group of inexperienced but passionate individuals would be able to pull it off. But why look a gift horse in the mouth? I had my magic trio: Amy, Lyndsey, and Alex Boyé as the Phantom of the Opera. Sure Amy traveled extensively for her job, and Lyndsey would be in Europe performing in Italy, and Alex’s life was filled with impulsive performances that his schedule could never be planned on. But still, the fact that they all said yes, and were willing to be a part of the show was the small miracle upon which everything else that happened afterward would be predicated.

Now, with the three - or four including me - in place, I knew I had something to work with. But instead of moving ahead with the writing, I decided to see what auditions would bring, and from there, once I knew who I had, I could write the show accordingly. I don’t know of any show that has been written like that, and I doubt I, myself, will ever have the opportunity to write one that way again. But man, did it have some advantages. I was able to write the parts to cater to the strengths of the performers, which made everyone look really good. The auditions were set for the first Saturday in May, 2005, the first signup was at 10am.

No show.
10:15am. No show.
10:30. Excellent. Amberlee Webb. A longtime member of the ward and a music education major. She auditioned and did well. I was counting on her, mostly because I needed a musical director (I can’t read music or sing parts) and she would be a solid voice for the ensemble. I asked her. She said yes. I asked her if she would stick around for the rest of the auditions. She said she’d be happy to.
10:35. No show.
10:40. No show.
Dang.
The auditions were a veritable ghost town. What’s the deal? I was beginning to wonder weather this show would be a full cast or would we have to do “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown?” I think total about 6 people showed up. And many of those people brought magic with them.

Mike Paine, an aspiring entertainer as well, showed up with Phantom book in hand. Mike had been involved in “Much Ado” playing the guitar and providing a bit of the soundtrack for production. That’s what he was known as: a singing guitar player who had wicked fingering and an easy going personality. He’d expressed interest in this production the minute I had announced its plan.

“I’m thinking about a live band,” I said to him early on.
“Oh yeah?”
“I think it’ll help create a more lively show.”
“Huh.”
“I want you to help organize that part of it.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Well, I’d be happy to do that, but I want a chance to audition too.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“What?”
“Just kidding.”

So with Phantom book in hand, Mike sang “Music of the Night.” He had been practicing with the CD, which is about a step in range above the music that he had (yeah, I don’t understand that either.) And when the piano player started in, it threw him off. Blew it. Sounded terrible. Just couldn’t get the hang of it. Didn’t matter. I knew he could sing, but more importantly, with those who were already cast, his 5 foot 7 inch frame and boyish looks would be perfect for a pivotal character I had in mind. He didn’t know it yet, but he was going to be our Joseph. Little did I know until later how strong that character would become to the fidelity of the story. Or the tremendous asset Mike would be behind the scenes.

Mike wasn’t the only find in the auditions. I needed a Belle. From Beauty and the Beast, Belle has always been on of my favorite musical story ingénues. Originally, the story centered around a love square between The Phantom, Elphaba, Jekyll, and Belle. It was more like a love…star…I don’t know. Belle would see the bold, dynamic action in Jekyll, the kind which was in stark contrast to the “poor, provincial town” she lamented. Early story concepts had Jekyll and Belle meeting and feeling the chemistry, but ultimately, Jekyll had more interest in Elphaba, and Belle was a far more selfish and egocentric character than the Disney movie only infers to in an extremely tiny way. But I was going to push that to the extreme. At least to begin with. It would have resulted in Belle hearing what she wanted to hear from a Phantom crony, discovered Elphaba had ulterior motives, and finally, she would get her man. She would later redeem herself when she saw just how much Jekyll loved Elphaba, and realized she had become what she hated most in the Beast. It was a very intricate story with brilliant themes, and would have deepened the story significantly.

I didn’t go with any of that. Because it was all based on the battle between the good guys and the bad guys, and seeking wishes and overcoming obstacles was a far stronger concept and storyline. So instead, I would use Belle in a different way. We would first meet her as the damsel in distress, locked in the Beast’s castle begging Jekyll (who is looking for one of the items) to take her with him to visit the wonderful stories she had been reading all her life. Jekyll says no, but realizes something special in Belle, and would later seek her advice, at a critical moment of the show. Her stage time was small, but her impact incomparable.

So I needed a good, strong, beautiful Belle. And I found her in Sarah Beesley. She was ideal height, build, and a large, gorgeous voice that rung through the room. I had already spoken to her about the part, which she was absolutely thrilled with. But she came to auditions anyway.

“Belle’s” part has changed,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s critical to the show, but she has a lot less stage time.”
“Oh.”
“But she will still have three songs.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. And a gold dress.”
“Well, that’s okay then.”

Sarah’s the kind of gal that would have done the part if it was performed in a garage or in a park somewhere with or without an audience. She loves to sing. Despite the relatively few moments of stage time, she was always on time. Always prepared. And always optimistic about the entire project. I doubt she knew it, but she was one of the pillars of support in times of concern for me. As with a few of the others, because of her dedication, I didn’t want to fail and let her down. She was quite remarkable. And getting the chance to sing Belle had always been a dream of hers. It wasn’t the entire part (that would be illegal) but it was enough. And Belle was born.

Elphaba.
Jekyll.
Phantom.
Witch.
Joseph.
Belle.

Those were the six core that I needed in order to full realize my comprehensive vision. And trust me. My vision was comprehensive. So many shows and characters tied together in an original tale of wishes and dreams and love. I just didn’t know how it was going to end. But not everything I had in mind would be in the final project. Some of it would be discarded simply because it didn’t work, some because the show would be too long, and, believe it or not, the talent pool had run out as well.

There are several kinds of talent. There’s the kind of talent that provides the backbone to a show, made up by a vocal chorus that fills the stage and makes the show larger than it really is. The kind of talent that takes a character and makes him/her far more hilarious than the writer ever dreamed. And there’s the kind of talent that blows the doors off the building. And so far, we had all of it. But I needed more of the ‘scene stealers.’ I needed the two princes from Into the Woods. I wanted the two princes from into the Woods. But alas, not everything turns out to be as envisioned. The guys I had in mind were committed to other projects. I even turned to simply popular guys that everyone would just enjoy seeing in such a role. They didn’t want to do it. So I cut ‘em. I wanted Jean Val Jean. But there was no one that could play Val Jean that wasn’t already cast in other parts. That may have been the one choice that dramatically changed the storyline the most. Without Val Jean, there was no leader of the “good guys”. Without a leader, no teams. And without teams, the story had to move to a more personal level. And that’s exactly what happened. It became a story about a girl who simply wanted to be normal and to be loved.

But just as things had to be cut because of limited participation, surprises, extremely wonderful surprises, also occurred. One in particular. Her name was Karen Gray.

Karen was a longtime friend, and alumnus of the ward. She has great talent, knew it long before auditions, but I did not expect her to force me to write a brand new part for her specifically. She came into auditions and sang-I don’t even remember what she sang, but it was fantastic. She was easily the most charasmatic autioner I saw. She was in fantastic character. I knew she had to be in the show. And I knew she had to be featured. So I created Tobias.

Stole Tobias, or at least the essence of Tobias, actually. Stephen Sondheim wrote a gritty tale about Sweeney Todd, the infamous demon barber of Fleet Street. In the show, a straggletag, a servant of sorts, was featured. Even in the earliest stages, I wanted the Phantom to have some kind of servant. But now, that Belle didn’t need to know Elphaba’s secret plan, I just didn’t know what I wanted him to do. But I was determined to not only create the character now that I had Karen, but to make it so seamless, the show would have been empty without her.

So there were my main seven. I was happy. I had a cast. Finally. Not everyone said yes. But the right folks said yes. I only had about a half a chorus, but that would come with personal invitations and members of the cast persuading friends. I knew I could fully develop a show based around these characters and backgrounds and build a new and interesting story that could have substantial impact upon its audiences. It’s the end of May now. We’re shooting for a late August/early September opening. That’s 12 weeks away. I still needed to write the script, cast the rest of the show, design sets, secure music, record or create additional music, setup rehearsal schedules, and decide when I’m going to see Batman Begins. Plus, the biggest risk of all, is that we’ve decided to go ahead with this without truly knowing whether or not we even have a venue.

I put the show off for another two weeks.

I have never been to New York City.

Never seen a show on Broadway, and can’t read music to save my mother’s life. I have had two formal singing lessons, Sunday night jams with a buddy of mine who played a wicked piano, performed in two legitimate musicals, not including roadshows, written three screenplays that never sold, a short Shakespeare remake, and acquired a passion for storytelling sometime during the 6th grade. I tell you this because I want you to know just how big a miracle Another Story to Tell really is. In fact, it’s one big miracle made up of a whole lotta small miracles shaped together into an inspiring tale of a small band of believers, dreamers, and music makers coming together and learning to fly.

The first thing I wrote that was ever produced was a contempory take on the Shakespeare classic, “Much Ado About Nothing. As an aspiring writer, you don’t care who produces it, where it gets played, it’s just a thrill something written by you not only gets performed, but works! This one was for my church group. Now when you think of “church group” you think, low budget, a wide variety of telent levels, and amateur all the way through. And though this was a little different type of group (single, between the ages of 18-30), still, if you have pictured in your mind what I just described it was exactly that. We did a contempory version of the Shakespeare classic. I wrote it. Adapted it, actually. And that was easy. Real easy. I sat down in front of the movie version, and went through it scene by scene, looking for ways to reinterpret as a contemporary adventure, without destroying the spirit of Shakespeare’s original. It took me six hours. The show was 40 pages long, 45 minutes to run, and had very little in terms of sets and locations. Six hours. Perfect for the situation. After practicing once or twice a week for, oh, six weeks, never getting through the entire show in rehearsal, we had one performance, a huge hit, and we were done. Everybody happy. Everybody satisfied. No one wanted to do it again.

A year and a bit passed. Sometime in early April of 2005, Kara, the brunette co-chair of the cultural arts committee (I told you. It’s a little different) introduced herself to me.

“So when do you want to have the show?”
“What show?”
She smiled.
“Seriously, what show?”
She stopped smiling.
“I was told you were writing the show…”
“I’m sorry, what show?”
“The show for the ward, the ward play.”
“There’s a ward play this year?”
“Yes. They said you were writing it.”
“Who?”
“The bishopric.”
“So sometime, somewhere, in a council meeting I was never a part of, someone suggested and then assigned me to write a new ward play.”
“Yes, and that we should put it on in May.”
“Is that right.”
“Yes.”
“You know it’s April right now.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”

And that’s how it started.

Now, understand that I had been wondering if the opportunity to write another ward (church group) play would come up, and obviously by the end of the conversation, I had stopped wondering. Back in the day, when the success of “Much Ado” was still fresh in our minds, there was talk of doing another Shakespeare interpretation of “Taming of the Shrew.” I mean, really, could there be a cooler story for a singles ward, who’s main reason for existing is to match up husband and wife?

As a matter of fact, yes.

“Taming of the Shrew” is a great show. Very funny, very interesting, but really, really chauvinistic. Now, my reinterpretation wouldn’t be nearly so, and it really wouldn’t be about women’s obeisance to men, because, see, I want women to like me. I want them to think I’m a really great guy, and if I had a woman in a play that I wrote give that speech that Elizabeth Taylor gave at the end of the movie version, neither of those things would happen. So I came up with something I thought was fun, something I thought was snappy, and then forgot about it for a year and a bit. At least until the brunette co-chair introduced herself to me.

I started thinking about it again.

The biggest concern I have ever had, about writing a show for a limited group is the amount of participation one could expect. So I took into account many things: the talent in our ward, which was considerable. More than considerable, in fact. For some reason, this particular ward, the 41st ward has always been endowed with tremendous musical and performance talent. Some strange alignment of celestial elements is all I can say. And I knew exactly who would play the part of Katherine, the shrew: it needed to be a woman with talent. Considerable talent. Someone who could be mean and even vicious without losing her charm to the audience. She had to be confident, strong, and reasonably pretty (because with her attitude, there had to be something appealing.)

Amy Dawn Addams.

Long before the brunette co-chair, Amy, a tall, feisty red head, and I had had several conversations about missing the theater. She’s a professionally trained actress, with a degree in drama or acting or whatever they call it these days, who hadn’t been acting very often for a good number of years. I was missing the theater as well. I hadn’t been cast in anything for over a year and was a little disappointed about that. So we threw around ideas, about writing a new show, performing a show that already existed, who would pay for it, what resources we had. That kind of thing. We got really excited about it, thought it would be a wonderful idea, and then never talked about it again.

But this was it. Amy Addams would be the perfect shrew (sorry, Amy.) So if nothing else, I knew that she could carry the show, be funny, feisty, and tremendously entertaining. I could have her read the back of a milk carton and quite possibly expect a standing ovation. But would she do it? Would she, who has performed at the highest levels in the state, be willing to do a ward play?

Are you kidding?

I had my shrew. And, if nothing else, I’d play Petruchio, the man who “tames” her, which I would love and she would hate. I started thinking about other talent in the ward. People who were passionate about performance, who would take it seriously and help make the show great. I came up with zippo.

Sure we had talent. There were a few folks who love performing, but very few who could act. Only a handful of the previous Shakespeare cast hadn’t gotten married or moved off to somewhere indescribable, and that wasn’t going to be enough. Man, I thought, we have all this great musical talent in the ward, but not a whole lot of people who would enjoy-

Wait a moment…
We have all this great MUSICAL TALENT in the ward!

I threw the Shrew treatments away. That was kid’s stuff. Child’s play. That was easy. I didn’t want easy. I wanted great. I wanted something that we could put on resumes, used as building blocks for the future. I wanted real. And, with the talent in the ward, I knew I could get it.

So, sometime in mid-April, I went to a council meeting, and before the leaders and decision makers of the ward, told them the new plan.
“I want to do something big. Really big. Something that has never been done before at this level. I want to stage a full Broadway-style musical.”
“You mean with music and singing and stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Costumes, and sets?”
“It is traditional to use both costumes and sets, yes.”
“Is the stage here at the Institute big enough for something like that?”
“No, it will be at either the Bountiful Regional Center or the Conference Center theater.”
“What’s it cost?”
“I’m not sure it costs anything.”
“Let’s do it!”
“But I’m going to need help.”
“Oh…Well, what do you need?”
“I’m going to need the auxiliaries to provide bodies. I might need ushers for the show, I might need set movers, costumers, I might need people back stage for the entire show. I’ll need co-chairs to help organize large groups into smaller groups and get things done…and before I start this project I want to make sure I have the support of the committees behind me.”

Then Mic, the Elder’s Quorum President, raised his hand.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to do something big when we’d all be satisfied with something like last year?”
“Because it would be a waste of talent not to do something this big. We have, in this ward, more talent than is normally allotted to singles wards. More than we deserve if we don’t use it this way. So to answer your question as to why do something big? Talent for one, opportunity for another, but mostly, I want to see if it can be done.”

I don’t really think I convinced anyone that day except for the Bishop. But that’s all I needed to convince. He stood up, gave me a proverbial pat on the head, thanked me, and went on talking about the Pioneer Trek. And I left more unsure of my support from the ward than when I went in.

Every woman has a little Diva in them. In the guys, it's "Rockstar." And everyone has it. At least a little. Everyone likes to know they're appreciated, and everyone, no matter what they say, wants a little spotlight, somehow, somewhere. And that desire comes from tasting adulation for something you've done well. Whether it's on a field or a court, whether it's on stage, a grade on an assignment, even a nice fluffy white cake, whether it's in front of a podium. I have plenty of "Rockstar" in me. Amy is more than a little Diva. She is a magnificently bold, talented Diva. But certainly reasonable and willing. She is also a Diva who doesn't sing. When I told her about the idea of a musical she was...less than ecstatic.

"A musical?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure?"
"It'll be great! You know the talent we have in our ward. It'll be a great spectacle and I know you like spectacle as much as I do."
"Yeah..." I could see it in her eyes, she felt an opportunity to perform was slipping away from her.
"What's the problem?"
"I'm not a singer!"
"But you're a performer. And you'll blow the doors off the place with whatever you're given. And I promise you, you will be given the greatest I've got."
A pause. Another pause. I sniffed.
"Fine."

I didn't officially need her approval to move on with the show. But I needed her behind me. I have a lot of respect for Amy Addams and her considerable talent, and I knew if she was behind me, believing in the project, it would go a long way in my confidence and in recruiting the others I wanted in the show.

So the juices were flowing. The excitement building. The anticipation of this massive undertaking weighed constantly on my mind. I put the project off for a month.

I was finishing up school. Taking 27 credits to end my undergraduate career at the U and pretty much swamped. And then Disneyland's 50th Anniversary was kicking off the beginning of May, so of course there's another week unavailable.

But I thought about it constantly. I thought about what kind of show it could be. And, as it has been previously documented, I don't read music, much less play music, much less write music. So it would have to be a revue. A musical revue taking existing music from existing shows built around an original story. People do revues all the time from shows, and the rights aren't nearly as hard to get, if we even needed to get them at all. Bah, I'd worry about it later.

I thought about the kind of story I wanted to tell. I thought about the talent we had in our ward. And somehow, out of all of that I came up with a storyline. Here's the original premise: The Phantom of the Opera, who was sick of losing the girl, had lived his story tens of thousands of times, more probably, due to the numerous times his story had been read, watched, and sung, and now, it was payback. He would use certain characters from different stories, and collectively they would capture the heroes and take them out of the picture at crucial times, one by one. Dr. Jekyll would be a key part. So was Elphaba from the new Broadway smash hit, Wicked. She would be used by the Phantom because of her magic. She would be taken with Jekyll and begin to think she's working for the wrong side. Belle (Beauty and the Beast) would be written a little different than the Disney movie had her, as a more selfish, almost whiny, blame others for her mishaps type of girl... Jean Val Jean was a huge part of the show, and was looking forward to writing his part. I looked like I had my "spine."

Yeah, it didn't work. I got overzealous. Too many lead characters all trying to say something. And you know what they say about too many chefs in the kitchen. But it wouldn't have just ruined the soup. If I had gone that way, each character would have been shouting so loud their messages, I would have lost the soup entirely!

So I restructured the story. I read a couple of musicals to find a good form. Jekyll & Hyde, Scarlet Pimpernel. I watched Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and Evita but those didn't help me as they were all music. Then, I read and watched Into the Woods.

"That's it."

Into the Woods did exactly what I wanted to do. It combined multiple characters from multiple stories into an original tale. It explained a lot of the back story of some of the most famous fairy tales around. I wanted to do the same thing, but with Broadway shows which are pretty much musical adaptations of fairytales anyway. I just wasn't sure how to do it.

But then I began to think about the original problem: The Phantom is tired of the way his story ends. He wants to change it...

CHANGE IT!

What if the Phantom found a way to change his fairytale? Okay. No that was something I could work with. I still didn't know how the Phantom was going to do it, but I'd let the writing take care of that. What I did know is that the Phantom wants to change his story. He needs Elphaba, from Oz, the "green girl", to help him. And somewhere in all of this, Dr. Jekyll would have a "confrontation" with Edward Hyde. Joseph and Belle would fit in as well because I knew, particularly Belle, that there were people to play them. That's where Into the Woods came in.

Into the Woods is a story about a witch who needs certain items to make a potion that will grant her beauty she lost long ago, due to a thieving baker. She curses the baker's family line as barren and until his son makes amends the family tree will always be barren. So with the baker's son (also a baker) wanting a child more than well, anything else, the Baker says what do I need to do. So the witch makes him go out and get certain items that belong to other fairy tale characters.

"That's it."

Plagiarism? Not in the slightest. Stealing? Absolutely. But as the wise William Goldman once said. "Good writers borrow. Great writers steal." The form was what was important. And that's all I needed.
The Phantom would send Elphaba on a quest to collect the items from different stories. Elphaba would bring them back and somehow, that would create a way for the Phantom to rewrite his story. Didn't know what that was exactly...but something. But I was on to it now. I knew how the show was going to open I knew what the show was going to be about. I knew how to get the different characters to interact. I just didn't know how it was going to end. Didn't matter. That would come. It always did. I was excited. The juices were flowing. I wanted to get started right away. I put the show off for another couple of weeks.

The reason I did so was because I needed certain people to agree to it before I wrote it. If they weren't going to do it, I wasn't going to write it. Elphaba, from Wicked, was the main character. And her music was not the easiest to sing. I needed someone with presence, experience, and a voice that would literally lift the audience out of their chairs.

I needed Lyndsey Dawson.

Lyndsey was an opera student at the U. Not just any opera student. She was, by all accounts the premiere opera student. Who not only sang opera but musical theater. She loved musical theater. She was absolutely versatile in her style and, most importantly, she didn't appear to have an ego which most premiere students of anything almost always do. She enjoyed a good standing ovation as much as the next star, but she appeared very willing and easy to work with. She is pleasant. She is charming and beautiful, and a voice that has the power to melt and inspire. But as the premiere opera student at the U., she was also very much in demand. She was going on tour in June in Italy. She was working with one of the most renowned opera coaches in the country. She had another show that began rehearsals the same week our show was scheduled. She was on her way to much bigger and extraordinary things, why on earth would she say yes?

Who cares, I thought. She'll do it. Because the ace, the one bullet I had was the part itself. I told her the concept.

"I want you to play Elphaba."
"Are you sure you don't want to put Galinda in it instead?"
I hesitated. Galinda, Elphaba's counterpart in Wicked, The Good Witch of the North, is a good part with absolutely brilliant music, but wouldn't work for the story I wanted to tell. And though it's briliant, the music isn't nearly as good as Elphaba's. The main problem is that Lyndsey is an incredible saprano. She has range, but she breaks wine goblets with her high notes. And Galinda was created by the saprano of the month Kristen Chenoweth. Elphaba is a Mezzo at the highest. But it had to be Elphaba.
"No, it's Elphaba. I really need you to be green."
"I'm going to be green?" She smiled.
"Yep."
"I'm in."

And that was that. She knew that Elphaba was a plush role. And she loved her music as much as anyone. What makes me humble and forever grateful is that she didn't even ask to see the script. Not because the script was bad. No one could say that the script, at this point, was bad, simply because it hadn't been written yet. Amy, at least, had read some other writing I had done and felt confident I could do something decent enough for a ward musical. But Lyndsey didn't know anything about my writing, directing, anything. She and I sang a song together a while back with a small group and I had a bad attitude all the way through it. I half expected her to just really, laugh out loud in my scruffy white face. But for some reason, some unknown motivation, she didn't even hesitate. She simply said, "I'm in." And I had my Elphaba.

Somewhere around this time, I began taking inventory. What we had, what we needed. I had two of the three performers that I absolutely could not do without. I had, a semi-solid commitment from the Ward to support it. I needed a venue.

"The Bountiful Regional Center is our best bet," I told Kara. She flicked her brown, shoulder length hair as she turned to look at me. "I saw a show there a few weeks ago. It's big, it's got lights and great sound. And it's used for exactly this kind of thing. I need you to find out who we're supposed to talk to about booking it."

"Okay...so we need to just-"
"I don't even know the process. The only thing I can tell you is to start with the Church Offices. They'll at least point you in the right direction."
"Doesn't a bishop or stake president need"-
"Probably, but right now I just need the paperwork. Will you find that out?"
"Yes."
"Thanks."

The Great BRC Experiment had begun and it wouldn't be 'til three weeks before curtain that it would be over. If there was anything I could do differently about the show, how we went about getting the venue would be one of two things, okay three things, I would have done differently. But for now, Kara was on the job. And she'd get some information back to me...sometime.

Read Part 2 here!