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PENELOPE CORRIN'S DIARY
From January 14 to 18, 2008, the National Post printed Penelope Corrin's diary. Read this unique insider's view of one cast member's week as we put the show together, from the first read-through to the live Friday broadcast.
Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday
This week's diarist is actress Penelope Corrin. This season she is a cast member of Air Farce Live, which airs Fridays at 8 p.m. on CBC. She kept her diary earlier this month.
It's nice to meet you. I'm Penelope, the newest member of CBC’s iconic comedy classic Royal Canadian Air Farce -- now Air Farce Live. I'm not sure if it has registered out there in TV Land what the name-change entails, as they've always recorded in front of a studio audience. A half-hour show that was once recorded in at least an hour-and-a-half, sometimes two, is now shot live in a half-hour and beamed directly into the living rooms of Maritimers. That is then recorded and broadcast everywhere else in the country. Any flubs, lost lines or wardrobe malfunctions also get sent over the airwaves. Naturally, this increases the stakes for … well, the 100 people it takes to put this thing together. I feel very fortunate to be one of them.
It's Monday, 10 a.m. With danishes, muffins and green tea, 19 of us are gathered to read 25 sketches the writers have come up with by their 6 a.m. deadline. This is my second favourite day of the week and the first of the new year. I believe that's the numerical definition of potential.
Luba breezes through her Hillary Clinton sketch, Craig is caught off-guard by a play on the word "caucus" and Roger's nerdy character choice delights us all. I'm still clearing my bleary morning eyes and marvelling, one year after I started, at how I came to be in this room.
After two read-throughs, it's time to discuss what’s on the table, give feedback or address concerns. (Readers, I'm going to give myself a nickname here to succinctly convey my self-appointed role at this stage in the proceedings: Tuppence. I’ve never been a "Penny." This has a nice ring to it, I'm a fan of Mary Poppins, but mostly, I've always got two cents.) The "rubber room" is what I love about today. Bouncing ideas around with other creative people to help put the puzzle pieces together for a well-rounded, topical, funny show. We cast our votes and then the real decision-making is left up to the big guys.
It's 1 p.m. and my first day back at work is done. Even more strange is that tomorrow (our old Day One) we have nothing scheduled. That extra day is reserved for Farce Films (anything shot outside the studio). Tomorrow's cast list: one car.
I'm still amazed at how relaxed these first two days are. Friday, 7 p.m. seems like years away as some of us catch up on each other's holidays and await the final verdict of what sketches will be in the show. I try not to think about North America’s No. 1 fear, public speaking, and that in just a matter of days, I will be speaking directly to at least half a million people as a yet-undetermined character in a sketch I've, thus far, read twice.
• Tomorrow, I once played a hairless alien in a student film.
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There are two aspects to this work. The Show is underway. Today, I must start taking care of Biz.
Though I had two weeks off for the holidays, I feel like this is the first day that I can really catch up on errands. I start at Steve's Music Store to give my Ibanez a little TLC. I might need my guitar in top form in exactly a month. I’ll be performing at my high school in Ottawa to benefit the arts program that got me started. My former teacher needs to know my technical requirements in two days. Truth be told, I have no idea what I'll be doing for my 20-minute set!
Anyhoo, my next stop is Civello to cover up my unruly, wiry, "natural highlights." I'm a bit tardy, but Jill takes it in stride and asks me how the Geminis were. I'm flattered she remembers. This time I'm getting ready for a photo shoot in a week. On Air Farce I almost always wear wigs, so the state of my roots is rarely an issue.
After this, I stop into the office to catch up on emails and organize a workable time to appear on Rogers' daytime show. Now I must gather some footage from my sketches to give to the talk show people. Is it just a dream of mine to want to hear those words, "Do we have a clip?" Peej is the jack-of-all-computers at the office. He's going to help me. Thank goodness. I still haven't updated my reel from 2001 (much to my agent's chagrin) when my most legitimate work experience was a student film wherein I played a hairless alien. Who knows, maybe it's my best work.
At the office, I'm greeted with an extra long list of comments from our website. They're printed up weekly for us to read, and the New Year's Eve special is the most watched at 1.3 million viewers. Some people loved it, others … well, they're entitled to their opinions. Like Jill earlier today, I'll take it all in stride.
• Tomorrow: How much texture should the vomit have?
How much texture should the vomit have? What colour should it be? These are questions to which there are no right answers. Nonetheless, the issues must be resolved. It’s already a risky sketch to do. The producers don't want to completely gross the audience out, but the Norovirus is topical.
We’re gathered in a room halfway between the 10th floor and the roof. Here we rehearse the sketches on their feet and do a bit of preliminary blocking. Add to the new year and new schedule a new seating arrangement. With additional writers and an extra cast member (me), the rehearsal room setup doesn’t offer good sightlines for everyone. Instead of the U-formation, we now sit, like elementary school children, in rows. Perhaps that is why I've started passing notes to Alan and Craig.
It's another short day for performers, while the writers and director keep working at tightening the sketches, adding jokes and rewriting bits that aren’t working.
This is the day I start to get nervous. There's one day between now and showtime. These unresolved issues begin to weigh on me, and I wonder why I was so relaxed the first two days of the week. In university I started writing my essays at 3 a.m. the day of the deadline. My tendency toward procrastination hasn't changed. Pressure seems to be an essential ingredient of my creative process.
So what do I do with this increasing anxiety? I go back to the office-with-couch cubicle area and hang out with co-workers laughing about Little Britain and Big Train. With that nagging feeling, knowing there’s something I’m supposed to be doing, I go to the computer to catch up on the Scrabulous games I play on Facebook with my family. My dad just got a Bingo (used all his letters) and I’m determined to beat him.
• Tomorrow, wig trials and fake nose requests.
Wardrobe fittings, wig trials and requesting fake noses. This is how I start the day. We rehearse with updated scripts. Today, the separate departments all come together for the technical rehearsal.
Yesterday's vomit texture query is resolved and the pump works well. Tim, the Special Effects Master, has decided on sudsy water mixed with skim milk powder. It's quite disgusting. I know already, as Bucket Holder in this sketch, I'm going to get wet. The Clintons are back in action, with a sketch incorporating Hillary's New Hampshire win.
Every week I learn something new about performing in this industry. Comedy requires a straight man; one who facilitates and witnesses the ridiculousness of the main character while offering the audience someone with whom they can identify. There are those who are very skilled at this (OK, one person; his name is Nathan Clark). It is not my forte, I admit to you kind readers. I've been acting out as different characters with a variety of accents my entire life. To shed that and be the "normal" person doesn't readily compute. But that is the learning I must do this week. Of course I've had to do it before, but everything about performing in a live TV show amplifies the experience. At a comedy club in Vancouver, I can get away with whatever I want to do. Here, I have responsibilities to my producers, the director, my castmates and the viewing public. As well, it's my face out there, and I don’t believe there’s time to explain to every Air Farce fan that I prefer playing goofballs. So, with a day to go, I must create "straight" characters in whom I have confidence. I wish I could share with you how that happens, but that is the mystery of the artistic process.
• Tomorrow, "Penelope, be funnier."
Everything leads up to this day. We'll run the show three times. The first is at 10 a.m. The 2 p.m. run is in front of our test audience. The third is in front of the country. It's funny how the mind works. I can't really comprehend 682,000 people, but I do get nervous that my dear friend Raina has made the last-minute decision to visit and see the show. She's seen me perform at all kinds of places in Vancouver. I'm not worried about that. I just haven't laundered the sheets and towels for the guestroom and the basement is a mess! Why am I worried about this right now?
Timing is everything. Not comedic, but how long will every element take. Al chases after me with a stopwatch. Although in current time I've got 10 minutes before I'm on again, in "show" time I’ve got two-and-a-half minutes to change costumes and characters. "Can you do it?" he asks. His life seems to depend on my answer, and I feel that the "We’ll see" I offer doesn't hold the level of certainty he was seeking.
In between each run we reconvene for notes. "Give a bigger reaction," "Use camera five not six," "Penelope, be funnier"… you know, the uje.
The big meetings happen after the test audience has been … well, tested. We now know approximately how long the show is. We’re 2:40 over. This results in some cutting of lines and losing one sketch in its entirety.
The show happens in the blink of an eye. Fortunately, the sketches are recorded. As predicted, my Bucket Holder character got soaked in the Vomit Virus sketch. Craig couldn’t resist missing the bucket. I expected as much maybe once -- not twice. I also didn't anticipate his moustache falling off. It is always the goal to stay in character and not give in to the giggles. This was the first time that I’ve cracked up on national TV. That is the risk of going live.
NATIONAL POST CREDITS: Ian McKellar, Peter Redman (Photographer)