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Filling a character's shoes not quite a routine gig

By LORRI HELFAND
Published January 31, 2007

I know what it's like to climb into a bulky flannel outfit and play a costumed character.

No, not as a pizza slice or a chicken on the side of the road.

But in my starving artist days in Los Angeles, one of my big gigs was playing a costumed character at a fast food business conference.

In the early 1990s, my friend Sevasti and I were hired, for about $150 each, to portray short, stumpy Blues Brothers-like characters for the Hot 'N Now hamburger chain.

Sevasti was cast as Hot, and I was cast as Now. At about 5 feet 2, we both had what it took to get the role: The costume fit.

But it was cramped and warm and had tiny eye holes. The feet were the size of snowshoes.

The routine was supposed to go something like this:

Announcer: "Here's Hot 'N Now!"

We strut on stage, do a couple of cool moves and point to a video screen, which would show a promotional message about the company.

The end.

Easy, right?

I wish.

The morning of the show, I was ready and raring to go.

But it turns out there was a reason Sevasti wasn't cast as Now.

About an hour before showtime, Sevasti called the hamburger executive who booked us.

She had a flat tire.

She said.

I later got Sevasti on the phone. She admitted she overslept because her alarm didn't go off. But she promised to get there as soon as possible.

Minutes later, the big honcho started wigging out. He was about 6 feet tall, and he started talking about shoehorning himself into the costume somehow and walking out on stage on his knees.

With just minutes to go, he changed his mind.

Instead, he decided, I would go on stage.

Alone.

Then I started wigging out.

The chain is called Hot 'N Now, I thought, and I was Now. I wasn't even Hot. How anticlimactic would it be if the announcer yelled, "Here's Now!" and I walked out on stage by myself?

I was looking for an exit when Sevasti arrived. Literally seconds before curtain call, we lay on a platform behind the stage and wriggled into the rigid costumes.

Then I tried to stand up.

And tried.

And tried. I squirmed around, as helpless as a turtle on its back, until someone helped me to my feet and attached my costume head.

The announcer yelled: "Here's Hot 'N Now!"

We strutted on stage.

I didn't trip.

I stayed somewhat in sync with Sevasti even though I could see only parts of her lower body through the small holes in the mouth and nose.

We wrapped up the routine. Gauging from the applause, we were a hit.

I gladly cashed my check.

And I never wore a character costume again.

[Last modified January 30, 2007, 23:06:14]