I was once in a production of Fiddler on the Roof that was just the most amazing cluster-fuck you could imagine.

I was playing Yente (for the second time).

I was joining the production late because they had lost their Yente (how careless of them) and needed a new one.

It was only the second musical I had auditioned for in Los Angeles (the first being Little Mary Sunshine, where I had played Ernestine (for the second time – LA seemed to be becoming the City of Do-Overs for me).

Anyhow, I hit it off with the director; and liked many of the cast members; but there was a group within the cast who just hated the director.

Now, I have hated some directors in my time.

The general rule is get through the production, learn your lesson, and never work with that director again.

Easy-peasy.

But these folks had a collective axe to grind.

I had no problem working with the director.  He was one of those directors where I just understand what he wanted and could give it to him.

The director was gay.  Very gay.  Very, very gay.

But, hey, this is Los Angeles in the 80s.

That should have been no big deal.

Anyhow, it all came to a head when one performance, these people showed up and then refused to go on!

No fucking shit!

What a bunch of ass hats.

They failed, however, to stop the performance.

The show must go on, and if you have to have people step in and work with scripts in their hands, that is what you do.

I always said that production of Fiddler was cast by Hebrew National, because there were so many weenies.