the norton debacle

From TORONTO
March 28th, 2008


I have a confession, and therefore an apology, to make:

I broke up the Stratford Festival Artistic Directorship.

Yes; despite what you may have heard and whatever overtures have been made to protect me and keep my name out of the media, I, Lisa Norton (a.k.a. The Skeptical Tourist), bear the sole responsibility for all this unrest and upheaval. Phew. I feel so much better. The guilt was killing me.

Here, in brief, is how it all went down. Some weeks ago, I had my first ever audition for Stratford. I had never so much as mailed a resume there before; the new triumvirate of Artistic Directors, however, signalled to me an infusion of hope and excitement to the tired old place. The Stratford Festival, I thought, might finally be ready for me.

I was to perform two monologues for and interview with new (now former) Artistic Director Don Shipley, and was excited to meet him. In I walked to the rehearsal hall high above Toronto's Canon Theatre, photo and CV in hand, hair done largely and elaborately, my best facial expressions only recently practiced in the mirror, to meet Don and Bonnie Green, the casting associate. "Hi Don," I said, "How're things?" He began to cry.

I mention this because, in retrospect, it was the first sign that something was wrong. It was, however, soon remedied, if only temporarily, by my audition. I gave such a dazzling display of acting virtuosity that Mr Shipley was immediately cheered, all worries forgotten. "WOW!" he exclaimed. "Jeez! GOSH! Oh my! Sarblllaphhhhrgat!" He momentarily lost all control and peed on the floor. Eventually recovering, he sat me down for a chat as Ms Green scrambled to find some paper towels and clean up the mess. "Honestly," said Don, "I have never seen anything so wonderful in all my life. If you could do that with a mere two contrasting pieces in four minutes or less.....Why, just imagine the possibilities! You, my dear, could change the world." I agreed and went on my way, thinking nothing of it. I expected contact from Stratford shortly.

It came a scant few days later in the form of a panicked phone call from Stratford General Director Antoni Cimolino.
"Lisa!" he said. "We don't know what to do! You're tearing this place apart!"
"Hey there, Tone," I told him, "Slow down. Take a breath. Drop and give me ten."
He did so, and then, as calmly as he could, informed me of the recent goings on at Stratford. I've pieced it together as best I can.

It seems that Don Shipley, as soon as I left the audition hall, immediately cancelled all other auditions for the day, and in fact, the entire week. "That's it," he told Bonnie. "That's all I need to see." They made instant haste back to Stratford, only stopping for a couple of Quarter Pounders and two Shamrock Shakes along the way and talking madly on their cell phones, arranging an emergency meeting of the Artistic Team and the General Director for the moment they got back to Stratford.

Their car squealed into the staff lot just as Des McAnuff's helicopter arrived from New York and Marti Maraden pulled up on her bicycle. They all made a run for Antoni Cimolino's office, pushing and shoving, Shipley madly waving my photo and resume in the air......and after getting stuck in the doorway for just a moment, they managed to get inside and sit down.

Don Shipley informed the group of what he had just witnessed. "We must have her!" he told them, "We must! I must!" I would, he decided on the spur of the moment, play Cleopatra in Caesar and Cleopatra in the 2009 season.
"But we're already doing that play in the 2008 season," Marti Maraden reminded him. "It's been cast."
"Are we?" said Des McAnuff. "That sounds like fun!"
"You're directing it", said Marti.
"Yay!" said Des.
"Who cares!" said Don. "We'll do it again! In fact, we'll repeat the entire 2008 season, only based around Lisa Norton. She'll make a fantastic Juliet! I'll direct her!"
"No," interjected Marti, "Surely I should direct her......that is, if she needs direction at all! I won't let you near her! After all - I knew her first!"
"I've never even heard of this Lisa Norton," said Des McAnuff, "But I sure like her headshot! Let's fill the lobby of the Festival Theatre with a permanent display of sculptures of her! She'll spend the whole season posing for me! I'll sing songs!"
"What are you talking about?" said Marti.
"LAAAAA!" said Des.

Bonnie Green discreetly snuck off with the remains of her Quarter Pounder with cheese.

What ensued was one of the ugliest fights over me since....well, it's so hard to compare really..... There have been some pretty nasty fights over me lo these many years. But it was up there. Each Artistic Director wanted me to his or herself entirely. None would concede that another might be allowed to direct me in a play, speak to me, or hold my hand while strolling along the Avon. Each wanted me as his personal muse at the newly christened Lisa Norton Shakespeare Festival of Canada (the name of which was the only talking point they could agree on).

Antoni Cimolino watched quietly for the most part, caressing his pet Siamese cat and sitting back in his high-backed leather chair. Then he stroked his newly grown goatee and reached for the big red button on his desk. Not the "eject" button. Not the "arm nuclear device" button. The other one.

As the carefully aimed taser guns retreated back into the walls, and the triumvirate of Artistic Directors lay writhing on the ground, Cimolino leaned forward and finally spoke. "The Norton," he said calmly, "Is MINE. I shall direct her. I shall speak to her. I will keep her in a box in my office, and let her out when I please. I will cover her with lanolin to make her skin soft and shiny and then I shall make her into a coat that I will wear to the prom. Now does ANYONE have a problem with that?"
"How dare you," managed Shipley.
"I'll never allow it," said Maraden.
"YAY!" said McAnuff.

"Ouzounians!" called Cimolino, and in marched his team of specialized security monkeys. (With wings.) "Remove Ms Maraden and Mr Shipley from my office. We will announce their joint resignation tomorrow. Muah ha ha."

But the two, weakened as they were by the taser attack, would not leave it at that.
"You will never have the Norton!" cried Maraden, throwing monkeys from her back and attacking Cimolino with sudden superhuman strength. Shipley, similarly fortified by rage (and love for me - not to mention the amazing properties of the McDonald's Shamrock Shake), made a run at him as well. They bruised him; they beat him; they tore off his new goatee. Des MacAnuff ate his cat, just for kicks. "You're on my side, Des!" cried Cimolino, shielding his head and his collection of poseable Cynthia Dale action figures as best he could. "Yippee!" said Des, and ran out to his helicopter and flew to England.

The phone call I received was made by Cimolino from under his desk during a temporary stand-off three days later. The Ouzounians had abandoned him and flown away to write an article, and the fight had continued, Shipley and Maraden alternating between ganging up on him and turning on one another to fight over me.

"We don't know what to do! You're tearing this place apart!"
"Hey there, Tone. Slow down. Take a breath. Drop and give me ten."
"They ate my cat!"

Anyway, Dear Reader, there was only one way to settle the thing. "Forget it," I told them on speaker phone, "Let it go. I can't stand to see you injure one another, not to mention flying monkeys, on my behalf. Besides....and you should have realized this....The Norton belongs to no man."

I wish I could say that solved all their problems. However, after another hour or so of kicking and biting, Mr Shipley and Ms Maraden left anyway, and have since become a bit of an annoyance to me with their constant stalking and attempted professional wooing. Mr Cimolino has acquired a new cat, is working on his goatee, and has instructed the Ouzounians to keep my name out of the press and go back to their usual routine of slagging hardworking theatre professionals and raving about the blueness of Nicole Kidman's eyes.

I, however, obviously felt that the truth must out. Again, my sincere apologies for all of this.....
and for the fact that The Lisa Norton Shakespeare Festival of Canada will have to remain but a lovely dream.
.....For now.