Chapter Twenty
The next morning is Monday, meaning it’s the day we see Marjolijn in Next to Normal. Just after Elliot and I have both showered and dressed, my phone rings.
‘Hey Jen,’ says Sophie. ‘Teddy’s on the line too.’
‘Hi loser,’ says Teddy.
‘Hi guys,’ I say.
‘Is Elliot there?’ says Sophie. ‘Put it on speaker.’
I click the speaker button and they both say hi to him, too.
‘Did you get home safely?’ I ask. ‘Was the plane okay?’
‘It was all great,’ says Sophie. ‘Thanks again for paying, and sorry we couldn’t stay. Are you guys having fun?’
‘Yeah, it’s been amazing,’ says Elliot.
‘I hate you both,’ says Teddy. ‘Mainly ’cause you met Marjolijn Jacobse and I didn’t.’
‘Deal with it,’ I say.
‘Hah-yee.’
‘Sh, honey. Mummy’s on the phone.’
We spend the next twenty minutes catching up. It’s remarkable how much there is to say, even though it had only been about four days since we last saw them. Elliot and I tell them about the dance contest and how much fun we had.
‘Oh my God, that’s amazing,’ says Sophie.
‘Oh sorry guys,’ says Teddy. ‘My lover is here. See you when you get back.’
He hangs up.
‘His “lover”?’ says Elliot. ‘How has Christina not killed him yet?’
‘Hah-yee.’
‘Lukie, please. Oh put your clothes back on. No, don’t … Sorry guys, I’ve got to go. Enjoy the rest of your trip!’
She clicks off the line, too.
Almost as soon as my phone locks itself, Marjolijn’s number flashes on my screen. ‘Goedemorgen, Marjolijn,’ I answer. I googled Dutch greetings last night, though I’m sure my pronunciation is appalling.
Elliot rolls his eyes at me and I flip him off.
Through the phone, Marjolijn laughs. ‘Very formal, liefje. I am impressed.’ I have absolutely no idea what ‘liefje’ means, so I switch back to English.
‘What’s up? We’re looking forward to the performance tonight.’
‘As am I. I understand this is late notice but I was wondering if you and Elliot would be interested in joining me for lunch in the next hour or so?’
I run the idea by Elliot and he’s onboard, so we make plans to meet at a pub halfway between us and Marjolijn and head off immediately.
It takes about twenty minutes for us to arrive. Marjolijn meet us out the front, greets us with hugs and we head inside.
I order a bowl of seasoned wedges because a) I’m not particularly hungry, b) I know it pisses Elliot off when people order sides as a main and c) I like being mean to Elliot. It’s a form of affection.
‘How was your weekend?’ I ask her.
‘Very good, thank you. Though we do not really have “weekends” during a performance run. We are only on a ten-day run in Sydney before moving to Melbourne, so we do not have any breaks.’
‘Is it hard performing in English?’ I ask. ‘I mean, compared to whatever other million languages you sing in?’
She considers the question for a while. ‘In some ways, English is easier. Next to Normal was written in English, after all. But the English songs that are the most difficult to wrap my tongue around have a lot of phonemes that are not present in the other Germanic languages. On the other hand, Dutch and German are so similar, and sometimes I get confused about the lyrics. It is difficult to sing the –’ she makes a guttural, phlegmy noise ‘– sound that we use in Dutch and German. It tightens your vocal folds and it is difficult to project.’
‘How did you get into theatre?’ asks Elliot. ‘Did you always want to perform as a kid?’
‘No, I did not consider it as a career until my adolescence. I performed in a couple of shows at school, after which I was encouraged to participate in local productions. People thought I had talent and I kept working my way through to larger-scale productions, found a beautiful agent and began earning some money.’
‘How did your parents feel about you pursuing such an … uncertain … career path?’ asks Elliot. I hope Marjolijn doesn’t mind being bombarded with questions, but I’m genuinely interested in her answers.
‘My father did not approve but that was of little consequence. He ate his words – is that the phrase? – once I was earning.’
‘How did you get cast in Australia?’ I ask. ‘Or just internationally in general?’
‘My agent contacted the casting directors and managed to book me an audition. Initial contact was made over Skype and I had to travel for a call back.’
Marjolijn’s acting must be phenomenal. I mean, her singing is brilliant but I’d have thought local productions would seek local talent. But as soon as I think it, I realise that presumptions like that are no better than the prejudices we saw on the night we met her. I’m the worst.
Our food arrives soon after that and the conversation remains Marjolijn-centred.
‘Why did you learn so many languages?’ I ask, hoping it’s not a rude question. ‘I haven’t got the patience.’
‘Most people in the Netherlands grow up learning English,’ she says, swallowing a mouthful of her salad. ‘There are more who speak both Dutch and English than there are monolinguals. But I never learned languages for the sake of the language.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks Elliot.
‘Language is a means of communication. I have no interest in German in essence, but I am interested in global travel and meeting people. It is lazy for me to expect everybody to speak Dutch or English. True, many people in Germany also speak English, but I like the flexibility to socialise with my German friends and not be a lexical hindrance. Language is one of the most powerful and unique tools we possess as humans.’
Marjolijn tells us about her global travels and all the countries she has visited. I don’t really understand how she had the time to do it all. I’m also fascinated – I thought even going to Queensland was a big deal but by my age Marjolijn had visited fourteen countries. She says she prides herself on having friends on every continent in the world, which I think is a lot more impressive than it sounds.
The curtain for Marjolijn’s performance rises at seven-thirty. Elliot and I arrive at the theatre just before seven, wearing the exact same clothes we wore to our dance competition, because we didn’t exactly bring a tonne of formal wear.
The theatre is smaller than I expected. I’ve never seen a live show before, so I expected a large building that drew a lot of attention to itself but it’s a reasonably small building that I would’ve missed if not for Elliot pointing out the Next to Normal poster in the window.
A small crowd has gathered in the foyer, waiting for the doors to open. Ushers in white business shirts and black vests stand guarding the auditorium. Several identical flyers hang along the walls listing the cast for the evening.
The role of Diana will be played by Marjolijn Jacobse this evening, due to the illness of Rosie Watson.
Illness seems to be a lie, since Marjolijn knew well in advance that she’d be performing. Perhaps it’s just easier than a full explanation.
From what I can gather, the principal performers for the other roles are all present. Several audience members grumble about having paid for an understudy show.
I fork over twenty dollars for a program at one of the stalls and lean against the wall, hugging the program to my chest.
The doors open at seven and an usher leads us to our seats. In the front row. Our tickets say ‘Stalls: Row A’ but I hadn’t thought about what that means so I wasn’t expecting front-row seats.
‘Enjoy the show,’ says the usher.
We’re perhaps two spots from the centre of the row. The red cushioned seats are the type that fold themselves up when nobody is sitting on them.
I flick through the program and find the cast profiles. The principals all have extensive, full-page biographies, but Marjolijn’s is only a couple of sentences:
Marjolijn Jacobse – Diana (understudy). Marjolijn has previously performed the role of Diana in Scheveningen and has had several other roles in both Dutch and German productions. The Australian touring company is excited to welcome her onboard to perform in her third language.
‘Understudies surely have the hardest role,’ I say to Elliot, while the rest of the audience filters in.
‘Why’s that?’ he asks.
‘Obviously they’re damn good to get cast in the first place, but even in the foyer I heard people grumbling about seeing the understudy and not the principal performer – and the show hasn’t even started. Especially when there’s a big name in the lead role, people automatically get this idea in their heads that they’re only the understudy and expect a worse performance. I guess it just seems a little unfair that they have to face all the usual pressures of a performance, as well as an audience who is expecting it to be sub-par.’
‘I guess,’ he says. ‘An understudy would have to perform really well for people to accept they’re good. It would be an interesting experiment to see how differently people rated identical performances, based on whether they were told it was the lead or the understudy performing.’
I feel bad for Marjolijn for the next twenty minutes, until the lights dim and a voice-over reminds us to turn off all mobile phones, that there’s to be no recording or photography, blah, blah, blah. Then the prelude begins, the curtains open and everybody falls silent.
Marjolijn plays Diana, a woman suffering from bipolar disorder, and it’s truly terrifying how convincing she is.
The cast all adopt American accents for the show, though I can still hear the traces of Dutch in Marjolijn’s voice. I’m not sure if that’s because it’s obvious or because I know her.
The music is very different to what I expected. My knowledge of the score came from listening to Teddy sing it and, just from listening to his voice, it was tough to pick up that many of the songs have a rock edge to them. I expected more of a feel-good Mary Poppins-type quality.
I’m really beginning to enjoy the show and settling into who all the characters are. Marjolijn’s acting breaks my heart. I almost forget that she doesn’t actually have bipolar disorder. I sit in stunned silence as she sings a song called ‘You Don’t Know’. Her voice is powerful, crisp and pure. Perhaps it’s her acting, perhaps it’s the more sophisticated sound system, or perhaps she was saving her voice in Byron Bay, but that performance was nothing compared to this. Her voice fills the entire theatre and I almost die. Elliot audibly gasps and I feel physically forced into my seat by her voice. I’m frozen in position. She’s furious. She’s passionate. Her performance is so vulnerable, so … human.
As the curtains close for the intermission, the audience climb to their feet, giving a standing ovation for a full two minutes. I may have deafened Elliot with my cheering but I don’t particularly care.
The houselights illuminate the auditorium, which is filled with the sounds of excited chatter and movement as people filter out for a drink or a bathroom break.
While I’m focusing on Marjolijn’s performance, her cast mates are just as good. By my count, there are six actors in total. They all have such brilliant voices and I’m amazed at the amount of talent that exists in the world. I’m also amazed that these performers are able to get up on stage and do what they love.
‘Do you need a drink or anything?’ I ask Elliot, standing to my feet.
‘Nah, I’m good. Do you want me to come with you?’
‘I’m just going to pee.’
‘I trust you can do that alone,’ he says.
A decent queue has formed for the bathroom and it takes nearly ten minutes before I reach the front. As I weave back through the foyer, I overhear many compliments for Marjolijn.
‘Why is she only the understudy?’
‘She’s remarkably good. Very convincing.’
‘Yes. According to the program, she’s performed shows in two other languages. Very impressive.’
‘I’ll have to come and see the principal actress if the understudy is this good.’
Strangely, my lips form a smile of pride. I don’t really know Marjolijn but I really like her and it feels like hearing praise for a friend.
Act Two is just as impressive as the first. I think my favourite song in the second act is called ‘How Could I Ever Forget?’ There’s so much passion and emotion that you just can’t help but believe every word Marjolijn sings.
Along with the majority of the audience, I cry for most of the act. He won’t admit it but I’m sure I even spot Elliot subtly wipe away a tear or two.
After the curtain call (Marjolijn receives the largest applause of the entire cast), we head into the warm evening to wait by the stage door, hoping to talk to Marjolijn.
‘I guess Teddy is onto something with his theatre obsession,’ says Elliot as we wait.
‘I know. That was amazing. So much talent – from all of them, not just from Marjolijn.’
The show was emotionally draining but also funny in all the right places – funny enough to relieve the tension but not so funny as to undermine the seriousness of the mental health issues that it represents. It was so honest.
The door swings open and Marjolijn, along with the rest of her cast mates, appears, waving and greeting the waiting fans.
We shake the hands of the three actors who pass us first and congratulate them on a stellar performance.
Marjolijn spots us and comes straight over. ‘Jennifer, Elliot, I am so glad you made it.’ Her Dutch accent sounds a lot more pronounced now that I’ve heard the American accent she put on for the last two hours.
‘I’m so glad you invited us,’ I say. ‘That was so good. No, it was amazing!’
‘You are too kind,’ she says. The crowd is still buzzing, wanting their turn meeting the actress. ‘I must move on. But please, use my telephone number. I hope to stay in contact.’ She beams and continues on, meeting fans.
The sheer level of happiness around the theatre tonight is ridiculous. Marjolijn is doing what she loves and making a bunch of other people happy in the process. The idea of being able to do that is incredible.