Pudding Primps for New Season

Clare T. Putnam ’04 stares at crates upon crates of men’s size 13 pumps.

“Our shoe collection is extensive,” smirks Putnam, the president of the Hasty Pudding Theatricals (HPT).

We are standing in the Pudding’s costume room, which is crammed with intricately bejeweled costumes and a heaping helping of drag-queen shoes.

Putnam has just taken me on a tour of the backstage area: the makeup room with its Old Hollywood lighted mirror, the green room (which “used to be a lot greener but it was ugly so we toned it down,” she says) and the open showers where the cast freshens up after every performance.

We descend the stairs to the tech shop, a large, low-ceilinged room full of props from past shows. Pudding memorabilia—old daguerreotypes and antique handbills–litter the shop, waiting to be moved out to the Pudding’s new facility at 2 Garden Street.

Meanwhile, Tech Vice President (VP) Matthew J. Ferrante ’05 wants to show Putnam what he has found among the mess: a set of antique poker chips.

“We need to have a tech poker night,” he says.

“Definitely,” Putnam agrees.

Although they appear relaxed, the Pudding leadership is running an extremely tight ship. Over the next two days, innumerable Diet Cokes will be chugged and innumerable last-minute cell phone calls will be made as they winnow down all the singing, dancing, punning hopefuls into a dozen cast members.

A Dr. Seuss World

The process begins every year in the spring, when the organization’s business staff is chosen. Sixteen members work all year round selling ads, preparing for the annual Man and Woman of the Year Event, and coordinating the show’s tour to New York and Bermuda—all before one word of the script has been put on paper.

Then, over the summer, the script comp begins. The president runs the comp along with the cast VP, soliciting students from every possible source—English classes, writing groups and organizations like The Harvard Lampoon, The Harvard Crimson and The Harvard Advocate. This year, the comp produced 11 completed scripts, according to Putnam, which featured plots ranging from time machines to magical dragons.

But “As the Word Turns,” written by Michael C. Mitnick ’06 and Kiernan P. Schmitt ’06 (collectively and endearingly known as “Schmitnick”), “stood out from the beginning,” Putnam says. “It’s a great idea, a great foundation for plot and for character. They’re also hysterically funny.”

The play is set in Spellville, an imaginary alphabet world. Putnam describes it as a mix between Dr. Seuss and Willy Wonka. Music by Derrick L. Wang ’06 completes the production.

Co-producer Nicholas H. Ma ’05 says the Pudding is all about “plays on words and wit,” which Schmitnick has taken to heart with character names like Lynn Guist, Graham Urr and the Diction Fairy.

Ma, who arrives bearing takeout from Spice, is an extroverted personality who has decided to protect himself from the snow in layers of cashmere sweaters rather than a jacket. He encourages an auditioner stricken with a tickly throat: “Can you carry a tune? You’ll be fine.”

Meanwhile, cast VP John P. Blickstead ’06 sets up shop in the business office, calling other auditioners to let them know that tryouts are still on despite the snow.

“The script goes through such a transformation.” says Ma.

Blickstead, cradling the phone, deadpans, “It blooms from a beautiful swan into an even more beautiful swan.”

The scriptwriters will continue fine-tuning lyrics and scenes until September, although Putnam admits that “revision goes on right up to the day before the show.”

Informal revision even happens onstage, when actors improvise particular lines to make reference to a particular final club or organization that is attending the show that night.

“No two performances are exactly alike, mostly because we screw up a lot,” Blickstead says.

A Chorus Line

Today, actors will be asked to perform a song and possibly read a short monologue from the script.

Sunday morning brings the dance auditions, “which are always amusing” according to Putnam.

The afternoon is a frenzy of callbacks and final casting decisions—the cast, per Pudding tradition, is all-male, with female roles performed in drag—and culminates in a first read-through of the script that very night. It is a rapid-fire process, and not designed for the weak.

With seven shows a week, doing an HPT production is “a very intense time commitment,” Putnam says.

However, Blickstead points out that it “gives you an exposure that you can’t usually get as an actor,” with 40 performances, shows in Bermuda and New York City and the opportunity to perform for a total audience of 15,000 during the show’s run.

During the first round of auditions “we try to see if they can follow music,” Blickstead says. “Sometimes being a great singer doesn’t mean having the greatest pitch or greatest vocal quality” but is more about “being able to sell a song.”

As for the acting portion of the audition, Blickstead looks for “someone that will endear themselves to a crowd.”

The dance segment is less emphasized.

“You don’t have to be a great dancer, but if you can’t find the beat, that’s a problem.” Putnam says.

“Even from the beginning, [auditions are] really about creating a tightly knit group,” says Ma. He cites the dance callbacks, where each group calls out the steps for one another. “It’s like, ‘Turn, clap, turn, clap, step, step!’” he demonstrates, growing even more animated than usual.

The snowstorm throws the Pudding folk into gale-force mode. They are constantly on cell phones, keeping tabs on the progress of the professional members.

“The Pudding reminds me of your typical nonprofit arts organization—constantly in a state of chaos,” Ma says.

Brandon C. Presser ’05 is the first auditioner of the day.

Clad in a blue pullover, he stands a bit nervously in the aisle until Ma bellows, “Center stage!” Presser gives a rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

Midway through, the Pudding’s professional musical director Allen Feinstein tells him to “forget for the moment that it’s a ballad and just belt it out.”

Presser belts, gaining in confidence as he goes through the song.

Schmitnick offers a joking commentary on the proceedings. When Joshua C. Phillips ’07 performs the Disney favorite “Under the Sea,” Schmitt jokingly orders him to “correct the grammatical errors in the song.”

When Hunter A. Maats ’04 announces that he will also be performing the Judy Garland classic, Feinstein tells him to “take it from the top.”

“Actually, sing it backwards,” Schmitt shouts. Maats follows his song with a monologue as alienated spelling bee contestant Graham Urr.

Mitnick, who is the more soulful and reserved of the pair, likens Graham Urr to himself. As usual, it is hard to tell whether or not he’s joking. Earlier, the two had a running gag about lifting their second act directly from The Producers.

Technically Speaking

“As the Word Turns” also offers room for creativity on the part of the tech crew.

The professional set designer, Peter Miller, “is going to have a lot of fun with Spellville,” says Putnam. Among the sets required by the script are a Cold War-style Russian conference room, a bunker and the Mayor of Spellville’s mansion.

Like the set, the costuming is handled by professionals—the Costume Works company in Somerville—and assisted by students.

Putnam is in charge of props along with Cara Zimmerman ’05, whose prop ideas include a riding crop for militaristic character Xavier Self, as well as a wand and other accoutrements for the Diction Fairy.

Zimmerman and Putnam will construct most of the props out of foam and wood, although they may also buy the more everyday items on their list.

Tony Parisi, a professional director, will run the show, along with professional choreographer Karen Pisano, who will be assisted by a student choreographer who remains unchosen.

Pisano is a small woman who radiates calm and grace in a crowd of pirouetting, high-kicking men, most of them a foot taller than herself.

With shouts of “Lovely, ladies, that’s it!” she leads them in a routine that includes thigh-slapping, a kickline and several steps with French names that are routinely mangled by the well-meaning group.

She also manages to dodge several errant legs during the Rockette-style finale.

Director Parisi tells me that every year Pisano selects a song to fit into the show’s theme. Since “As the Word Turns” is about spelling, she’s chosen Nat King Cole’s “L-O-V-E.” In previous years she’s played “It’s Raining Men” for a musical about weather forecasting.

“Walk. In your own. Lit-tle circle. Ba dee da da,” Pisano demonstrates, emphasizing the rhythm.

The men divide into subgroups to begin to perform the routine. Every so often, Pisano will stop to correct them on form.

“I should be able to put a bowl of soup right there,” she says, gesturing at the perpendicular angle of a dancer’s knee.

Extroverted Peter A. Dodd ’06 encourages everyone to call out the dance steps. “Give us some sass, boys!” he shouts from the wings as one of the subgroups performs. Soon, the others join him in cheering and clapping out the rhythm.

Rupak Bhattacharya ’05 says it is his first time auditioning for a Pudding production.

“I don’t know a lot of the guys,” he says. “Auditions before have been cold, but these people are really warm.”

Parisi asks about the group’s tumbling experience. “Can any of you do a somersault?”

“Oh, in the air? No.” responds Blickstead.

Dodd claims expertise with the ‘triple salchow,’ then executes a neat cartwheel.

Meanwhile, Maats, a member of the Harvard Cheerleading Team, creates a memorable impression with his acrobatic cheer: “Hasty! Tasty! Hasty! Pudding!”

Working the Crowd

Later that day, Joshua M. Brener ’07 impersonates an angry poodle.

As one of the lucky names on the callback list, he is auditioning for the canine character Old Speller. Abruptly, Parisi asks him to change his character to a chihuaha.

Brener switches from a French to a Mexican accent and rereads his monologue, adding hilarious improvisations that delight the deliberators.

“He just made it into the show,” Schmitt says, as the dozen or so Puddingites enjoy a good laugh.