Power failure doesn't stop intrepid troupe

The show must go on. Everybody knows that.

COURTESY PHOTO The cast of "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee" performed last week at the Barbara B. Mann Performing Arts Hall - for awhile. Audiences expect it and actors live it.

Call it the theatrical work ethic or the actor's mantra. Irving Berlin refers to it in, "There's No Business Like Show Business," talking about performing even when you've just learned your favorite uncle's died, or your parents are splitting up. He doesn't say "the show must go on" in those precise words, but the sentiment's there.

A fellow cast member forgets his lines?

A set falls down?

The supposedly dead body on the parlor floor suddenly sneezes?

That's live theater.

The show must go on.

Except, of course, on those rare occasions when it doesn't - like last Tuesday, when "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee" opened at the Barbara B. Mann Performing Arts Hall. About 10 minutes into the show, right after the opening number, the power went out, and the show was eventually cancelled.

In all my years of reviewing theater, that's the first time I ever recall that happening.

I did attend a Kenny Chesney, concert at the Germain Arena a few years ago, back when it was still called TECO Arena. Due to an electrical problem the show was postponed. People milled around, and many made multiple beer runs to the lobby. After an hour and a half, the show finally continued.

But this is the first time I've seen a musical stopped after it began.

Prior to the show I was admiring Beowulf Boritt's set design; it instantly transported me back to PS 104 in Brooklyn, New York with its clunky wooden chairs and tables that must have been around since George Washington's time. The gym bleachers. The basketball hoop and backboard seen from the distorted little kid looking way, way up. And the hanging lights ensconced in heavy half-globes that look as though they should be placed upon the shaved head of a condemned convict or lowered onto an abductee by a Martian.

The cast, a rag-tag group of 7th graders and their teachers, had just sung the first song, "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee." Then, POP! We were enveloped in blackness.

"I didn't do it!" said a petulant male voice from the stage. People laughed.

A few seconds later, the Hall's generator kicked in, and the auditorium became dimly lit.

Some thought it was part of the show.

Jennifer Simard, portraying Rona Lisa Peretti, a teacher, stayed in character, ad-libbing. She told the audience that she remembered this happening during the 14th annual Putnam County Spelling Bee when there was a hurricane.

But as the power stayed off, the cast was uncertain what to do. Simard told the crowd to talk to each other.

Then she announced they would take a break and leave the stage. Proclaiming "Whatever!" with perfect teenage exasperation and disdain, the actor in the Boy Scout uniform stomped off the stage and the rest of the cast followed.

People in the audience immediately whipped out cell phones while others went into the lobby. The word soon buzzing around the hall was that a transformer blew.

Unfortunately, a transformer blowing is all-too-common event in Southwest Florida. I constantly return home only to find timers blinking 00:00 and that my alarm clock is three hours off. It's like living in a thirdworld country where continual electrical power is an iffy proposition.

A woman came out and announced that the show would begin again, from the beginning, even though we were still without power. People on the main floor cheered, and some in the balcony jeered.

The cast came trooping out, and Simard, keeping in character, urged everyone to move down closer to the stage. She was marvelous; all those improv classes were definitely working.

But one man in the balcony kept complaining in a loud voice. There's one in every crowd.

"This is a live spelling bee, and these things happen," Simard told us. "It's just a little dark. You're going to be the only people to get to see it like this."

That comment was met with more cheers and jeers.

The Hall was dimly lit, but there wasn't much light on the stage itself. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. A noir version of "The 25th Annual Putnam Spelling Bee"?

By now the fourth wall was not only broken, it was obliterated.

"Why are you talking into a microphone if there's no power?" someone shouted out to her.

Simard replied that she felt comfortable behind the mic, it helped her feel secure.

Others started shouting out comments.

"I feel like a comic at the Catskills!" Simard exclaimed, and then suddenly broke into gales of laughter as the absurdity of the situation overwhelmed her. It took a few tries before she could stop.

Then, the stage manager walked on-stage again, accompanied by Scott Saxon, the Hall's general manager. Saxon, dressed in a suit and carrying a megaphone, looked as if he were part of the show - a gym coach or a principal, perhaps.

He announced they were canceling the show and patrons could exchange their tickets for another night's performance.

The show must go on, but not until tomorrow.

Most people took the news good-naturedly. They realized it wasn't the hall's fault, and the cast had demonstrated that they were game to continue.

In the cast bio, Jennifer Simard says she's received one Lucille Lortel nomination, one Drama League nomination and three Drama Desk nominations "and is therefore, a five-time loser."

But in my book, she's a winner. n