Analyze This!

The following is a quick glimpse into my psyche. A few nights ago, I had a very vivid dream. This is not so unusual for me. My husband, Dan, thinks I'm a little mentally unbalanced in the way I work out my anxieties through my dreams. I think Dan is a little mentally unbalanced in his claims that he does not dream. You, faithful readers, can judge for yourselves if I am as crazy as my husband believes.

Anxiety #1: Getting My Ears Cleaned Out

Real life situation: Lately, I have been hearing a constant ocean roaring in my ears. My ears plug up over night, and it sometimes affects my hearing throughout the day. The doctor told me my ears are plugged with wax, and in a few weeks, I have an appointment with an ENT to get my ears cleaned out. Yuck!

Dream situation: I went to a supposed ENT, but it turned out to be some woman who didn't even seem to be a doctor at all. She didn't look in my ears. She didn't even have an office. Instead she sat me down on a sofa with a panel of other women who discussed my situation (think The View meets Dr. Oz). I spent a few hours waiting for the panel to diagnose me, and when no conclusion was reached, I magically found myself standing in front of a lighthouse with Dan.

Anxiety #2: Extreme Fear of Heights

Real life situation: I am deathly afraid of heights.

Dream situation: According to Dan, who is more bizarre in my dreams than in reality, the only way to get to the top of this lighthouse was to parkour. I was in the middle of parkouring when I remembered my fear of heights, and I froze. Somehow I shimmied into one of the windows of the lighthouse, and Dan and I started exploring. The lighthouse looked more like a mini apartment with a kitchenette, living room, and recreation hall. That's when we realized we could get arrested for breaking and entering. Dan tried to convince me to parkour back down the side of the lighthouse, but I insisted there must be an easier way down if this was someone's living space. We spied an escalator outside one of the windows.

Anxiety #3: You Decide . . . 

But then we heard car doors slamming below us. Well-dressed women and men started filtering in to the lighthouse. We seemed to be crashing some sort of societal function.

"They look kind of familiar," Dan whispered to me.

"Wait! I know what it is!" I exclaimed. "They're all Republicans!"

"Isn't that your dad?" Dan asked, pointing to my father who was seated on a leather couch, carrying on a conversation with a group of Idaho Republicans.

"Let's get out of here!"

And I did. I woke up.

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Saying Goodbye to Anna

The King and I closed last weekend. For the first time in a long string of musical theater performances, my initial thought wasn't, "Yay! I get my life back!" I was sad. I missed being Anna.

However, the very next day after the show closed, I found myself at auditions for a summer youth musical (for which I will act as music director), so I didn't have a lot of time to mourn the loss of this alter ego I had come to love.

Happily, I couldn't get away from the role that easily anyway.

I returned to school after my long weekend to students making comments like, "You did a great job in The King and I, etc., etc., etc." or "The dance in your purple dress was so good!" or "My favorite part was when you got all mad at the King and said, 'I shall say nothing more because I have nothing more to say!'"

One parent said her little girl, not quite school-age, kept asking, "When is Mrs. Duggan coming back out on stage?"

And every child loved the tantrum I threw ("Shall I Tell You What I Think") in my corset (or probably more accurately, in my underwear).

The speech pathologist told me there was general buzz in the faculty lounge after the show opened.

"I walked in during three different lunch hours, and the teachers were talking about your performance every time."

This general enthusiasm amongst my school community reminded me of one of the main reasons I accepted this role in the first place - to give my students the opportunity to truly experience the performing arts.

My family and friends had some interesting insights as well.

During intermission, my father and brother apparently had the following conversation (as overheard by my husband, Dan):

Steve: "I've seen her punch a pillow like that (referring to the aforementioned temper tantrum scene)."
Dad: "Yup, I've seen all those facial expressions. And I've heard that 'no' before (referring to the many times I said 'no' to the King emphatically throughout the show)."

Another friend of mine said about the picture below:

"Gee, when I worked with Becky, we all bowed toward her."

To which I replied, "Ha ha! That's the way it should be!"

Now Dan follows me around the house reciting dialogue from the show at the most inopportune times. I suppose that's what I get for making Dan run lines with me for the last three months.

For example, when I asked Dan if my father wanted me to call him "right now," Dan replied, "Now? Now is always the best time!"

During a slight disagreement, Dan said, "This is not scientific!"

I scowled at him, and he responded, "What is this face you put on?"

(If you hadn't already guessed, Dan was quoting the King.)

On a more serious note, this feels like my final goodbye to Anna. I will be 35 in a couple of weeks, after all. Chances that I will look young enough to play the role the next time the opportunity arises are slim to none.

And perhaps saying goodbye to this role is especially hard because every time I heard the overture from my stage right perch, I felt my mom, and saying goodbye to this role is a little like saying goodbye to her all over again.

Diva flowers from my students

For more The King and I adventures, check out:

The King and I . . . and My Hair 

Anna, The King, and I

Anna, The King, and I

For the last three months, I've been living in the skin of one of my favorite musical heroines, Anna Leonowens. Boise Music Week's The King and I opens this Wednesday, and I will be playing the title character (the "I," not the King).

I have been working hard to get back down to what I call my "King and I weight," the weight I was when I portrayed Anna in 2009. I would love to get down to my "Chicago weight," the weight I was as Hunyak. But, alas, I'm no longer in my twenties, and there are no Fosse-style dance moves in Rodgers and Hammerstein to buff me up.

The last time I was in The King and I, the prop master slipped a picture of a chimp in my locket, the same locket that was supposed to hold a photograph of my late husband to which I was supposed to refer, "Oh dear, yes. He was very pretty in face!"

Also during my last stint as Anna, one of the kids in the cast put a remote control fart machine in the principles' dressing room on opening night. We kept wondering who was having digestive problems as we put on our makeup before the show.

At one rehearsal for the 2009 show, the King stepped on my ball gown during "Shall We Dance," ripping the skirt off the bodice. As if I hadn't shown enough skin in that fiasco, I flashed a man whose wife was doing his makeup in my dressing room one night. I was chattering on and on about something completely unrelated to the show. Unaware of my surroundings, I took off my bra, then my spanks. Then I remembered there was a man in my dressing room (who had very chivalrously closed his eyes as soon as the spanks started dropping). I tried to cover myself with my hands while the other women and I ran back and forth in front of the costume rack, screaming in hysteria.

However, I wasn't sure if I would come away from this current production with my typical tales of backstage comedy. After a month or so into rehearsals, I wasn’t nearly as hilarious as usual.

In fact, some of the incidents that occurred throughout the process weren't very funny. After I explained to my husband that I couldn’t break any limbs cross-country skiing over spring break, the King almost blew out his knee jumping off his dais on stage. And I got a head cold, complete with laryngitis about three weeks before opening night. Luckily, I am now fully recovered.

Hilarity eventually ensued though.

My go-to comedic material consisted mainly of: “Wide load comin’ through,” referring to my hoop skirt whenever I walked through a doorway or “Now I know what feeling ‘bright and breezy’ means,” when my bloomers fell off in the middle of a scene.

Of course, as is usually the case, the other cast members were much funnier than I.

One of the King’s wives wore a light-up hula hoop at the beginning of act two the other night. When she prostrated herself in front of the King, it began to blink. And Louis pretended to be a sword swallower with a map pointer one evening.

In Tuptim’s absence, the young man playing Sir Edward Ramsey (who is probably over six-feet tall and sounds a bit like James Bond) filled in, acting opposite the male romantic lead, Lun Tha. Sir Edward was a former student of mine, from kindergarten through fifth grade, and I can still remember when he could hit Tuptim’s soprano-range notes.

I call Sir Edward and Lun Tha “The King’s Posse” because they stand off stage and pantomime “Puzzlement” every time the King sings. The King and his Posse also spent one of our rehearsals acting out “Whistle a Happy Tune” from stage right. They claimed they were trying to get me to break character.

“Ha, ha! You won't distract me. I'm a pro!" I replied.

Then I realized that this sounded like a challenge. So now I am a bit on my guard. No telling what The King’s Posse might do.

Then last night, the directors announced “No practical jokes once we move into the theater!" Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. I wonder if The King’s Posse was listening . . .

Headshot for The King and I, Boise Music Week 2012

Boise Music Week's production of The King and I opens Wednesday, May 9 and runs through Saturday, May 12 at the Morrison Center. Please click here for ticket information.

For more The King and I fun, see "The King and I . . . and My Hair."