Stop me before I Edna again

By CHRISTINE LAVIN

© St. Petersburg Times, published May 3, 2000

[Photo: AP] Barry Humphries, in the persona of Dame Edna, has brought his comedy across the pond to conquer Broadway, causing at least one serious addiction.

NEW YORK -- My name is Christine. I am a Dame Edna-holic. Please help me.

I feel better already. Admitting your problem is the first step toward conquering it, though I didn't even realize I was in trouble until this afternoon, on an E train bound for an eye examination in Queens. I was thinking I'd be headed back to Manhattan by 5 p.m., plenty of time to stop at the Booth Theater to get a single ticket for tonight's performance of the Broadway show Dame Edna: The Royal Tour. I would pay cash; that way there would be no paper trail.

That was when I knew I had a problem.

It's just after 11 p.m. now, and I have seen this show 19 times since it opened in mid-October. Yes, not only was I able to score a ticket tonight, it was fourth row center (one of those house seats they sell at the last minute if no friend of the cast is clamoring for it). The first 18 times I saw it I laughed till my lungs ached, but tonight I actually laughed so hard I cried.

Australian Barry Humphries' alter-ego Dame Edna -- featured last week on 60 Minutes II -- is, in my estimation, the finest comedic performer in the English-speaking world.

What does he do? Entertains the audience by sharing Dame Edna's hope, strength and experience with her American "possums," brilliantly engaging them in conversation, with a few hilarious musical numbers thrown in for good measure. Think of Dame Edna as a politically incorrect, demanding, self-absorbed diva dispensing unwanted advice to a group of people who, despite all logic, become devotees by the end of the evening. Although there is a basic structure to the show, every audience is different, so no two performances are the same.

Topical references are added and subtracted. A few weeks ago, in the midst of an improvisation, she stopped and said, "I'm making this up as I go along. I wouldn't insult you with a rehearsed show. Not like Hillary on Letterman." Last night she announced she has changed her name to Ednita now that the INS is allowing her to adopt Elian Gonzalez. She pointed out that she is still able to breast-feed.

"I only mention this fact in case we are ever stuck in an elevator together. You will be able to survive."

This astonishing actor possesses unflagging energy and a startlingly quick wit, which he has been sharpening for more than 40 years as Dame Edna. For more than 25 years, she has been a fixture on British and Australian television and stage, and with this show has finally conquered Broadway. Starting this fall, Dame Edna plans to take her act across America for the first time. (A possible stop at Clearwater's Ruth Eckerd Hall in February is being discussed.)

But back to my addiction. Do the math: I have spent 18 times $65, with a little knocked off for the occasional half-price ticket. But when you add in handling fees for tickets purchased by phone, the cost of treating friends to the show, plus cab fare and restaurant bills -- oh my God, I've developed an expensive addiction and I don't know how to stop it!

I also have bought two Dame Edna pins at the memorabilia shop next door to the Booth Theater (tiny rhinestone-encrusted eyeglasses; I had to buy two pairs in case I lose one). I purchased all 12 videotaped episodes of Dame Edna's hilarious British TV game show, Neighbourhood Watch. I've spent hours at her Web site studying photos of her elaborate, ingeniously designed costumes. I bought John Lahr's illuminating tome Backstage With Barry Humphries -- the expensive hardcover, not the paperback.

Oh, I have tried other shows. I saw Kiss Me Kate, loved it, but the whole time wondered how Dame Edna's show was doing a few blocks away. I was mesmerized by The Dead, at the end wept along with the blubbering crowd, thinking I could have been laughing along with the audience if I was over at the Booth. At Dirty Blond I just knew Mae West would have adored Dame Edna and admired her fashion sense. At the Metropolitan Opera, during Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, when the bloody brides dancing with axes gave way to the giant mirrored ball descending from the heavens, all I could think was: Dame Edna would love this part!

I don't go to other shows anymore. I can't concentrate on them when I know Dame Edna is in the vicinity.

At one performance I spied Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgewick holding hands in the third row; at another, Lauren Bacall, Patricia Neal, Celeste Holm and Eartha Kitt were all in the orchestra section the same night. Tonight there were 10 middle-age women from Chatham, N.J., wearing dime store tiaras on their heads as they walked in the door. Yes, Dame Edna noticed them and wove them into the show.

When I was seeing it for the eighth time, I took note of something in the second act: After singing about her beloved son Kenny, Dame Edna strolled over to the piano, picked up a single tissue, dabbed her eyes and sighed, "With that lovely song I even moved myself!"

It was then that I knew something had to be done. Dame Edna needed a sterile tissue any time her emotions got the best of her, and she needed it in a dispenser as glamorous as she is.

I headed to Manhattan's fabric and trim district, where I hit the jackpot: a shop bursting with sequins, rhinestones, sparkles and beads.

That night I stayed up until 4 a.m. sketching, cutting and gluing until a boring white tissue box holder was a shiny, shimmering, glittering jewel, the highlight of each side a fabulously sparkling scripted E. Inside I wrote, "For Dame Edna: The Royal Tour, Booth Theater, NYC, opened October 17, 1999, to unanimous rave reviews."

The next day my own work took me out of town, so on the way to the airport I dropped this precious package off at FedEx.

A stack of mail greeted me upon my return, but nothing from the Booth Theater -- until a simple white envelope with no return address caught my eye. Could it be . . . ?

Yes! A letter from Dame Edna herself! In a plain white envelope! Who knew? It read in part:

I cry on-stage at least twice a night, and now, instead of dabbing my eyes with a germ-laden Kleenex placed upon my piano by a grubby props man, I have your tasteful monogrammed dispenser. It's lovely, Christine, and so thoughtful of you to make it for me. I hope you didn't inhale as you were gluing on all those gems. I would hate such an act of kindness to lead you into substance abuse.

My only fear is that this lovely bauble you have created might upstage me, so I hope I don't see any audience member's eyes swiveling to your creation. Thank you for writing the brief documentation inside. Only a few of us seem to think of posterity these days.

My thoughts to you and your loved ones for the coming year, and my gratitude to you for solving so prettily the tissue issue.

A joyous heart always,

Edna

I picked up the phone and ordered a single ticket for the next night's performance.

As the crowd roared at her entrance, I couldn't bear it anymore. I glanced quickly toward the piano. Yes! It's there! I immediately looked back at Dame Edna, praying she had not caught me looking.

Her show was screamingly funny that night, and to my delight and joy she dabbed her eyes not once, but twice -- once in each act. The tissues practically leapt out of that dazzling box, and my heart warmed knowing I was helping to keep her so daintily germ-free. Best of all, I now had another reason to see the show again. And again. And again.

What am I? An Ednut? An Ednaddict? An Ednahead? Is there a support group I can join?

Please. Help me. This show may run for years. And be forewarned: It may be coming to your town soon.

Singer-songwriter Christine Lavin lives in New York.

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