Hair Lip to Bare Lip

Tuesday was photo night at the theatre in Caledon. There was a professional photographer there to take cast photos. That part was no problem, Ms J. Photos of the cast and crew are always taken and displayed with accompanying bios for theatre patrons.

But “Tribute” requires more pictures. There’s actually a slide show that’s presented as part of the play. My character, Scottie, has a son who’s a camera buff. Jud takes numerous pictures of his ailing father in various stages of treatment and the audience is shown about eight or ten of them. So there were shots of Dale and also of “Scottie”. Numerous shots of Scottie.

Scottie in street clothes listening to doctors discussing his treatment plan.

Scottie getting his pulse taken by a pretty nurse.

Scottie in a hospital gown (and nothing else!) sitting with the pretty nurse on his lap.

Scottie sleeping.

Scottie looking weak and disheveled and short-tempered.

Scottie walking away, his gown open at the back and a hat covering his bare arse.

Scottie walking away, his gown open at the back and his bare arse displayed.

It was all great fun, Ms J. Anything for a laugh!

But according to the script, Scottie Templeton is a man who’s fifty but looks ten years younger. Clearly, Dale the actor needed to look younger.

Scottie has a full head of hair. Dale is bald. So the club paid for a toupee. Eighty bucks. It doesn’t look too bad, actually. Scottie is clean-shaven. Dale has a moustache. So Dale offered to remove his moustache.

And that’s the lead story in today’s post, Ms J.

Dale’s moustache. Or rather lack of a moustache, for he shaved it off at the theatre. Clean off. No trace of hair on this top lip. Boy, do I ever look different! I barely recognise the man I see in the mirror.

It’s been quite a while since I’ve bared my upper lip to the world. Thirty years, Ms Journal. Honestly! I first grew a moustache in Germany. It was the summer of 1976 and I had just turned eighteen. I decided it made me look older, more distinguished. And it became a part of me. I’ve been shaving around it every morning for thirty years.

In Act 2 of the play, Scottie begins chemotherapy and the wig will be removed to reveal a shaven head. Scottie wears various hats to conceal his smooth pate, but the audience will know he has no hair. In the final scene, he addresses the audience bare-headed and makes a tearful apology to his son. The boy joins his father on stage in a heart-rending reconciliation and, if we do it right, Ms J, there won’t be a dry eye in the house.

When the play finally closes in mid November, I’ll not likely ever wear a wig again.

My moustache, however, will be left to return to it’s former glory. Vive Yosemite Sam! (But with a bit more grey)


"The best moustache north, south, east aaaaaand west of the Pecos!"

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