field, of course, and the good ones will dis-
place holdovers.
Although almost all designers begin
with a college degree, most say that-like
many professionals-they really learn the
art of their craft on the job. Many schools
offer both B.F.A. and M.F.A. programs;
Carnegie Mellon, New York University,
Virginia Tech and the University of Texas
at Austin are among the most prestigious.
Liberal-arts preparation can also help at
the drawing board. As an un-
dergraduate at NYU, lighting
designer Robert Rosentel stud-
ied dramatic lit and classics.
Joy Spanabel Emery, a cos-
tume designer who teaches at
the University of Rhode Island,
says the best costume and set
designers spend much time
studying paintings in museums
and poring over encyclopedias
to ensure authenticity.
Sorcerer's apprentice: After
graduation, most designers ap-
prentice with an experienced
professional or production com-
pany. Costume designer Sally
Richardson, who graduated
from the University of Wash-
ington School of Drama, began
her career as a wardrobe mis- Every littl

tress in St. Louis "doing laundry and quick
repairs and making sure costumes were
where they were supposed to be for quick
changes." Last year lighting designer Ro-
sentel traveled to six cities with the nation-
al touring company of "Cats," adapting the
show's complex lighting scheme to the dif-
ferent structures of each auditorium.
As with anyone in this Gypsy life, back-
stage professionals hopscotch from play to
play and town to town. Stage manager Bill

Buxton, whose career path is fairly typical,
took his degree from Virginia Tech and got
a job as an assistant stage manager in the
1979 summer repertory season of the Ala-
bama Shakespeare Festival, making about
$150 per week-including walk-ons as
guards and monks. From there he worked
at a Washington, D.C., dinner theater and
in a regional playhouse in Wisconsin, then
toured with the musical "Annie." He now
draws a salary of about $900 per week as
one of three stage managers for
the Broadway production of
"Les Miserables" (box) and cau-
tions against heading for New
York too soon. "You're doing
yourself a disservice because
you don't really know your
trade yet," he says.
For all the long days and road
trips, designers and stage man-
agers take great satisfaction in
their demanding trade. True,
they don't get ovations, but
that's part of such an intention-
ally anonymous trade. Says au-
thor Williamson: "They will
have done their jobs best when
nobody knows they've done
their jobs." Surely that is the
SC AMAGE magic of theater.
D CHRISTOPHER M. BELLITTO

DOUGLA;
e detail plays a part: Emery in her costume sho


Master of the House at 'Les Miserables'

M ore than most unseen
theater professionals, a
stage manager must mar-
ry technology with art. Wit-
ness Bill Buxton, assistant
stage manager of the smash
Broadway musical "Les Mise-
rables," sitting in a dark
corner off stage left, supervis-
ing a scene change halfway
through Act I. In less than
a minute, combining lights,
sound and bulky set pieces,
Buxton's verbal and visual
commands will transform a
French country inn of 1823 to
a crowded alley in a Parisian
slum nine years later.
"Warning: revolve 180 on
red, 182 on blue, "Buxton says
into his headset microphone,
cuing a technician who runs a
computer-directed hydraulic
system that uses cables to spin
a huge turntable onstage.
"Warning:fly cue14 on red, 15
on blue," he says to stage-

hands perched high above the
stage who will unlock ropes
to lower a scrim. "Stand by
on trucks," Buxton tells two
machine operators hidden in-
side a pair of large chunks
ofscenerypieced together with
spoked wheels, handcarts
and broken furniture. "Ready
left," they respond over the
headphones. "Ready right."
As the orchestra hits a par-
ticular note in the score-
which Buxton has been fol-
CAROL BERNSON-
BLACK STAR
Broadway
command post:
Buxton
calls the
shots for
scene
changes

lowing in his thick, three-ring
cue script-he calmly says,
'Electric 88, go. " An electri-
cian hits a computer button
that sets a programmed light-
ing change into motion. Si-
multaneously, Buxton flicks
an illuminated toggle switch
from orange to green, cuing
the turntable operator to set
the stage in motion. As it
moves, Buxton checks its posi-
tioning on a black-and-white
closed-circuit monitor.

"Fly cue 14, go. " The scrim
comes down to hide propmen
striking the set behind. When
another assistant stage man-
ager-in costume onstage-
calls a verbal "clear" over her
wireless, Buxtongives the next
revolve cue. "Electric 89, go"
brings the word PARIS from a
slide on a scenic projector onto
the scrim. While more cues
change the lighting as the
scrim goes up, Buxton flicks
another toggle switch, and the
truck operators drive the two
pieces toward center stage.
Presto. In 30 seconds-in
full view of the audience-it is
nine years later and many
miles away as the actors take
their places. Few theatergo-
ers realize that a complex
partnership of people and ma-
chines has set the creative
switch in motion, yet Buxton
doesn't seem to mind. "It's an
integral position that no one
really knows about," he says,
"and I kind of like that."
C. M. B.
NEWSWEEK ON CAMPUS 37

I

MAY 1988