Berkeley Rep Blog
Category archive: Costume shop
A peculiar delivery
posted by Kyle Sircus on Fri, Jan 27, 2012
in Backstage buzz , Costume shop
One of the loveliest aspects of our Harrison Street campus is the ability to comingle with other departments without straying too far from your own. This morning, for instance, I was chatting with Kitty Muntzel, our fabulous draper, about an upcoming program article and getting some insights from her. On my way out of the costume shop, tailor Kathy Kellner Griffith called me over to a different table. "And take this with you," she said.
I have to admit I was amused and, after a bit more thinking, curious. Where does one acquire such a treasure? (In case the picture doesn't do it justice, it's a very detailed diorama of a house in the Philippines.)
I asked where it came from, and the ladies who usually know it all -- they've been here a combined total of 47 years -- had met their match. They were stumped! "No idea," Kathy told me. As far as they know, it just appeared in the shop. They asked me to bring it upstairs so that everyone could see it and take their guess about its origin. Any ideas?
The mystery's afoot!
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Lightning speed: From one Moscone to another
posted by Amy Bobeda on Thu, Jan 26, 2012
in Costume shop , Our shows
Dressers think a lot of stupid things are funny. Like the way a single hanger can travel from location to location throughout the show. Or naming ensemble characters with ridiculous names. (In Ghost Light, Peter Macon’s character in the film sequence is named Baboo, and Danforth Comin’s “Man 1” has become Keith-Bobby. Hell, we even think it's funny when George Moscone’s shirt magnetizes itself to the refrigerator backstage.)
One of our favorite things to bide our time thinking about is the realism of quick changes. Last season, fellow dresser Alex Zeek and I spent much of our time obsessing over the fact that, in Three Sisters, Natasha had a quick change that occurred in real time of the play, so there should not have been two dressers changing her — in the reality of their Chekovian world, poor Natasha would have had only the help of one little woman, Anfisa, and I’m guessing it wouldn’t all go down in a minute and a half.
But that, my friends, is the reality and magic, of living breathing theatre, which takes me to the root of our story, the rise in our action, and the quick change that rocks the world. Yes, folks, you guessed right: I am talking about the transformation of Mr. Bill Geisslinger from seedy prison guard to the honorable Mayor Moscone.
Bill Geisslinger as Mayor Moscone in the background with Tyler James Myer; Christopher Liam Moore in the foreground. Photo by kevinberne.com
Quick changes such as this are choreographed with the grace and beauty of Olympic-level synchronized swimming. Alex and I arrive in the stage right quick-change room about six minutes before the Prison Guard exits his last scene. We prep the room: chair in the center, pants pooled on the floor, shoes out of the way, pre-tied necktie on my arm, and magnetic shirt in my hands — all awaiting the arrival of Bill and his arms.
After the gunshots and dreamworld transition music, the auditions begin with Reggie van Huuson. Our cue “It’s Van HOOOOOOOsen” is the moment Bill arrives, sliding his arms into his shirt like a snake darting at the neck of a small child. Standing behind him, I slide the tie over his head while the shirt magnetizes itself closed. Alex unzips his gnarly boots while Bill drops his pants and sits in the chair. Alex then puts his legs through the pant legs, and slides on his shoes, while Bill and I apply the Moscone wig to his head. I glue down the sideburns and hold them as Bill stands up, buckles his pants and belt, and turns toward the mirror. I continue to apply pressure while Alex helps him into his glasses and wedding band. I clip the toupee clips that hold the back of the wig to his own hair as Bill perfects the infamous Moscone curl at his forhead. Alex runs to page the curtain for his entrance, while I help Bill into his suit coat. And by the time the Puppeteers and Ghost puppet are done with their audition piece, Bill has left my sight, like a ghost, vanishing into the depths of backstage blackness.
I am left to clean up my brush and adhesive, and scram so that Barbara Blair can change Louise into her last show look.
I grab my wig block and walk the stairs back to the wig room, knowing that I will do nearly the same thing again tomorrow, in a job that is monotonous, but never mundane.
Sarita Ocon, the Moscone wig, and I wait in the green room for our next cues in act two.
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Fabric origami with Chris Palmer
posted by Karen McKevitt on Tue, Jan 24, 2012
in Costume shop , Prop shop , Scene shop
Berkeley Rep's shops are filled with pretty awesome, talented artisans who are always curious and ready to learn new things (and build some awesome things too). That tradition continued last Friday when the costume shop hosted an in-house fabric origami workshop taught by the amazing artist Chris Palmer, author of Shadowfolds. He taught members of the costume, prop, and scenic shops his method of folding fabric to make three-dimensional geometric designs.
Kitty Muntzel, the costume shop's draper, instigated this post -- and pointed me to a terrific blog post by our Scenic Charge Artist Lisa Lazar, who allowed me to repost it (with some slight changes) here.
I could a tale unfold...
On Friday I had the great fortune to participate in a workshop with artist Chris Palmer.
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Myth busted: The prison guard's hair
posted by Amy Bobeda on Fri, Jan 20, 2012
in Costume shop , Our shows
At the opening night reception for Ghost Light, actor Bill Geisslinger and I encountered two things: tiny cups of wine and audience disbelief. It went a little something like this:
Kyle from Marketing: Congrats!
Me (sipping tiny wine cup): Thanks Kyle, it’s so nice to finally be open!
Kyle: So I have to know, in real life, Bill Geisslinger has very light gray hair, but as the prison guard it's black…
Me: (Sip second tiny cup of wine in preparation for the following:)
Well Kyle, and other curious Berkeley Rep patrons, I am so glad I am here to demystify the quizzical hair situation of my good friend Billy G. (That is the rap name I bequeathed him, but don’t tell, he doesn’t know yet.)
Bill Geisslinger haunts Christopher Liam Moore in Ghost Light. Photo by kevinberne.com
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I would walk 500 miles
posted by Amy Bobeda on Fri, Jan 13, 2012
in Costume shop , Our shows
I’ve always enjoyed The Proclaimers "I’m Gonna Be" (aka "500 Miles") from the Benny & Joon soundtrack, but I’ve never really considered the commitment required to walk 500 miles just to be with someone. That is, until now.
On December 31, we had our first day of tech rehearsal for Ghost Light, and through a moment of divine inspiration, I threw on a pedometer just to see how many miles I would walk that day for director Jon Moscone. In less than eight hours, I logged 8.5 miles while finishing the shopping for the show — laundry detergent, magnets for the magical George Moscone quick change, and a trendy wallet for the character Jon. Eight and a half miles for one day seemed a little high, so on Sunday I tried again.
I realize most people have no clue what the fancy-shmancy term “tech rehearsal” means. So imagine this: you are locked in the theatre for 10 out of 12 hours, going from light cue to light cue, sound cue to sound cue, taking an hour to work though a 45-second transition, and crying when the corn-based snacks that production management provides run out. That, in a nutshell, is tech.
But, back to the mileage at hand. Sunday marked another 8.5 miles. At this point, my competitive instincts kicked in and I actually wanted to beat the previous days’ records. On day three, people began to ask how many miles I had logged. On day four, I lost my pedometer*, but not before I noted that I had logged 42 miles.
FORTY TWO FREAKIN’ MILES. And, that was only in four days of tech.
So, I suppose the point to my story is this: every day a group of folks dress up in black and walk well before the audience arrives. They set the ghostlight. They check the sound levels and video feeds. They preset the clothes and restyle the wigs. Together they walk 500 miles for Jon, and George, and most importantly, you.
So, next time you rewatch Benny & Joon, and "I’m Gonna Be" plays, enjoy the fact that a whole group of folks walked 500 miles, just for you.
Johnny Depp and Mary Stuart Masterson in Benny & Joon
*Today, I found my pedometer under my desk at Harrison St. I don’t think I need it anymore.
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Ridiculous Reptile tradition: Tattoo Friday
posted by Amy Bobeda on Fri, Dec 9, 2011
in Backstage buzz , Costume shop
Some offices do “casual Friday.” Clearly, Berkeley Rep is too unique to partake in such a trite ritual. What do we do instead? Fancy you should ask! Every Friday morning no matter which campus our ducklings find themselves on, we all have one thing in common: temporary tattoos.
Like all good ideas, it began in the costume shop. On a weekly trip to the local Target for Popov, Oxyclean, and environmentally friendly detergent, we trolled the ever-popular dollar section. That day there was something magical in the air, because those bins were stocked to the brim with temporary tattoos depicting hipster animals — octopus DJ! Raccoon bandits! Boston Terriers in cute baseball caps! Clearly, for a dollar I needed to buy three packs and find their purpose later.
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Get your fashion on: British edition
posted by Amy Bobeda on Mon, Dec 5, 2011
in Costume shop , Our shows
Today marks the one week-iversary of the British Invasion at Berkeley Rep. After only six days spent with our friends from across the pond, I have begun to understand Paul Revere’s panic. Why, you might ask? Because we were vastly unprepared for their impeccable, edgy sense of fashion, and of course their ridiculously confusing costume vocabulary.
So, today, let’s play catch-up and learn to dress for the queen.
To dress like a character of The Wild Bride, one will require:
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Get your fashion on: The Cain family
posted by Amy Bobeda on Fri, Nov 18, 2011
in Costume shop
Now that you’ve been moved to tears and choked your way through fits of laughter with the Cain family’s submission to the Bible in Bill Cain’s How to Write A New Book For the Bible, it's time to get hip and get some Cain family attire of your own. Whether you’re a peachy pastel man like Pete Cain, sport comfy robes like Mary, stark serious duds like teacher Paul, or a man of the cloth like our hero, Bill, your resident costume shop is here to help you dress like the most “functional” family in town.
Clearly, the most important gear you likely don’t have on hand is your alb and stole. For those unhip with the clerical lingo, the alb is the white robe with the large collar worn when (SPOILER ALERT) Bill speaks at his father’s funeral, while the stole is worn around his neck over the robe.
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The makings of a mustache maker
posted by Amy Bobeda on Mon, Oct 3, 2011
in Costume shop
Mustaches are in vogue. Mustache mugs. Mustache T-shirts. The mustache on my father. After years, they are all finally cool, which makes my niche profession of mustache-making cool. You may remember my mustaches from such Berkeley Rep productions as The Great Game: Afghanistan, Lemony Snicket's The Composer is Dead, and my personal favorite mustache was a minor plot point in last season’s Three Sisters.
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An ode to the rumba
posted by Amy Bobeda on Wed, Sep 28, 2011
in Costume shop , Our shows
In the production departments, we have to learn to let go of our work. Many artisans at Berkeley Rep are artists outside the gates of our Harrison St. and Addison St. campuses, but here, as artisans we have to embrace what most artists fear: our hard work may never see the light of day. Some departments are used to this; the scenic painting folks work tirelessly to paint the steel framing on the backside of scenery that will never be seen by anyone beyond stage crew.
Change is particularly common on world premieres of shows that have had limited workshop time. Rita Moreno: Life Without Makeup is a perfect example.
When the costume shop began production, we began reconstructing a beautiful black-and-white gown for a rumba number. It was a snow storm of rhinestones, spandex, and about 30 yards of sheer and opaque black-and-white taffeta ruffles. Needless to say, it was, as many of our garments are, a challenging by enjoyable execution process.
Alas, no Berkeley Rep audience member will ever gaze upon the rumba dress, because the number was cut from the show.
Many people may read this and think “OMG weren’t you guys mad!? You made so many ruffles!” But here is the kicker: we are just here to make the beautiful things, it isn’t up to us what happens with them next, and there is something incredibly freeing about that feeling.
Personally, I loved the rumba dress. It was sparkly. It was outrageous. It looked darn good on Ms. Moreno, and hopefully its ruffles will one day be seen by eyes other than those of the costume department. Am I sad to see it go? Sure. But, the beautiful thing about costumes is that one day, the rumba dress will come out of the closet again.
