Healed after a life-threatening illness, a veteran Norfolk-based actor takes on the role of Scrooge with new vigor

By Tom Robotham

Since 1994, when he moved here from his native Pennsylvania, D.D. Delaney has been a mainstay of the theatrical community in the Norfolk area. But last year, after developing heart trouble, the 68-year-old Ocean View resident was forced to confront the grim prospect that he might never perform again. In July, he underwent surgery, and the recovery, he says, was difficult. But by Labor Day, he was beginning to feel better, and he began to set his sights on the third-annual production of beloved project.

Last December, he staged what was perhaps his most energetic performances to date. Delaney is offering three more shows this season: Fri, Dec. 18, 8 p.m., Living Waters Sanctuary/Eastern Shore Chapel, 2020 Laskin Rd., Virginia Beach, $10 adults, $5 children. Phone 757-496-2242. Sat., Dec. 19, 7:30 p.m., Norfolk Farm Market, Church and 26^th Sts., Norfolk, sponsored by Norfolk OffBase, pay-what-you-can, proceeds to benefit artists and support of GI rights and advocacy. BYO snacks, beverages, and instruments, party to follow performance at Norfolk OffBase, 25th and Fawn Sts.Tue, Dec. 22, 4 p.m., The Venue on 35th, 631 35th St., Norfolk, $10. Phone 757-469-0337.

The idea of a scaled-down version of the Dickens classic came to Delaney after he was invited to do a few scenes from the book at a local church. He had played the role of Scrooge in full-scale productions five times before that, in his hometown of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and had enjoyed the process. But there was something about doing a few essential scenes that appealed to him. An hour-long, one-man show quickly evolved from there. Delaney plays some 20 characters in all, from Scrooge to Tiny Tim.

Last week I sat down with Delaney at the Muse Writers Center to talk about the production and the deeper personal meaning attached to it in the wake of his health problems. Following are excerpts from our conversation.

Tell me a bit more about how this one-man show come about?

Well, four years ago I was asked to put together scenes from A Christmas Carol for Courthouse Community Methodist Church out in Virginia Beach. It was just about a 20-minute production…but it went over so well that I got the idea of doing a whole show, but concisely. This is just my personal opinion, but I think that even in Dickens the story is too long—and yet it remains an old favorite because there’s something in there that really gets people. So I thought, well if I lift out just the drama and leave out the fluff, this story could be told in a short amount of time, and it would be just as good—maybe better—than the full productions that you see. So I’m still on the road to seeing if that’s true, but people tell me it’s true, and I’m more confident this year than I’ve ever been.

I love the drama of this piece because it covers a complete range of emotions….It takes you through real despair and real redemption. It’s a big challenge to play for that reason, but that’s why I love the show.

The idea of cutting classics is interesting. A lot of people think that’s a sacrilege. But you obviously have no problem with this in principle.

No, I don’t. And I think for modern audiences it’s almost required. I remember one time I directed The Crucible, and I cut a lot of the political stuff out of it so it would a two hour instead of three hour play. I got some flak for that, but mostly people said, “This is the best production of The Crucible I’ve ever seen.” I’m not a Classics Comics or Cliff Notes kind of person. But I think for the stage, especially when you’re asking people to sit in seats that are not always that comfortable, it’s a good idea to give it to them as purely and concisely as possible. Drama is very close to poetry in that regard.

What is it about Scrooge that initially attracted you?

Initially I was not that interested. I had the usual intellectual’s response to A Christmas Carol as this old chestnut. But my friend [in Pennsylvania] offered me the role of Scrooge, and it was a paying gig. I have to give him some credit for helping me see that this is not a sparkly happy face story….Gradually it became a question of how deep you have go with the loneliness and bitterness toward just about everything. It’s more than greed. It’s about deep-seated fear of poverty, which creates greed. How deep do you have to go in order to burst out of it to that high point of, “Oh my God—I’m still alive, for one thing.” How can you portray that on stage? That became the challenge. We did 28 performances that first year. I thought I’d never be done with it. But eventually, I began to get the rhythm of it and then I began to identify with the full range of emotions, and it just became an actor’s feast. Even then, though, I noticed that there were certain parts that for me as a character were dull. And that’s when the idea of cutting it began to hatch in my mind….[Then] I began to wonder whether I could do all the parts.

The trick of it, once I learned the lines, was to make the changes so fast that the audience doesn’t see them, and they have the impression that the stage is full. But from what people tell me, it works.

How much do you rely on actually changing your voice?

Voice is important. I don’t have a great vocal range, but I can go high, low, change the rhythm of the speech. And I do an English accent. But the most important thing is that the transitions are very clear, and that’s all in the body and the [facial expressions.] The more I do it, it refreshes rather than exhausts me. That tells me that the piece is working—that it’s not forced but is just growing organically.

This year, of course, it’s even more special for you because of your heart trouble. How has that affected the play, if at all?

I don’t know, except that some people who have seen it tell me that the characters are deeper. I can’t really be a judge of that, but I do feel that it’s true. That might have happened anyway. All I know for sure is that it looked for a while like I not only might not be able to do it this year, but I might not be able to ever do it again—or much of anything else—if I lived. So being able to do it, and feeling better doing it than I ever did before—physically and emotionally more connected to it. I’ve done it once already this year, and I didn’t feel spent at the end of it. For a while there I thought, maybe I can do it but I won’t be able to do it as well. Or maybe it will even kill me—I’ll just keel over on stage like Moliere. But it seems fine.

Do you find yourself relating to Scrooge in a different way, having gone through the same sort of dark night that he did?

I think I feel more sympathy for him. Not that he was a stock character in my mind before. But I think it adds some colors. For example, in the beginning, when he says some terrible things, like, “If I could have my way, every idiot who goes about with merry Christmas on his lips should be boiled in his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart,” that’s hard stuff. But what if it were colored a little so that he means it, but he’s also making what he thinks is a joke. That then sets up the fact that he can have a sense of humor later. That’s an example of a subtlety. I don’t know if that’s a result of my summer in the hospital or whether it would have happened anyway. But again, I think the main thing is just the joy of being able to do it. I couldn’t have come anywhere near this last July. I mean, I couldn’t breathe. As soon as I finally started to heal by Labor Day, I started to swim again, and that helped with my breath. Then I started to go back to the Venue on 35^th Street and perform little short pieces. Then I started to do some longer pieces, and finally started to rehearse A Christmas Carol.

You mentioned to me in an email recently that you think we all have a little bit of Scrooge in us. Can you elaborate on that?

Well, take taxes, for example. I think taxes could be a way of all us putting in so that all of us can take out. But nobody wants to pay taxes. And if taxes go up—especially around here; I’ve never seen anything like it—[people rebel]. It’s as if they want services but don’t want to pay for them. That’s Scrooge. People often don’t care about the suffering of others. They don’t care about the homeless. And every one of us at some point or another has that spot where we don’t care. Even though there’s a real person suffering, we don’t empathize. Now in the character Scrooge, it’s grown like a cancer, out of bounds. But that’s what I meant by that. That stingy, reflex pissed off feeling when you’re confronted with another human being, or even an animal, who is bad off and you don’t care. There are a lot of reasons: You don’t have time, you’re pressed by other things, you were hurt in your own life like Scrooge. It’s a shield to keep out some segment of reality that comes at you. It happens a lot in older people, and I think it’s based on fear. Scrooge has built up this shield around him, which will allow him to express no sympathy. But in the course of the show it breaks down.

Tell me about some of the other characters and how you approached them.

Cratchit is a really pure soul, although a little bit of an alcoholic. Christmas past is refined and very objective, simply pointing things out without judgment. Christmas Present is jolly, almost a prankster—but huge, larger than life. Christmas Future is just this presence that Scrooge sees and no one else does. I like Fezziwig, although he just appears in a flash. And Belle. Her sorrow, not just at having to lose a fiancé, but at the change she sees in Scrooge is very touching to me. And of course I can’t leave Marley out. I’ve worked with so many poor Marley’s. But the last time I did it there was this kid who played him—a lanky tall kid in his twenties, with sunken cheeks—and he played Marley like he was really suffering. And I thought, of course, that’s what Marley needs to be. You have to be ready to go over the top with this character. In the beginning, there’s all of this Scrooge stuff that everybody’s heard before. And people are chuckling. Then Marley appears in the door knocker, and still it’s chuckle, chuckle. But then when he comes in, a silence comes over the audience and they realize it’s a serious story. This guy’s in hell, and there’s no sense that he’ll ever get out. And he’s telling Scrooge that if he dies before he fixes things, he’s going to be in worse shape because he’s had seven more years. That’s the story, that’s the real hook. Marley has to accomplish that, and if he doesn’t then the whole show is down the drain. You lose the true meaning. So I realized early on that I had to find a way to do Marley that would literally terrify people. That’s what I aim for.

You haven’t mentioned Tiny Tim.

He has only two lines. I play him like this kid who’s just bubbling and overcome with joy, in spite of his misfortune. There are more things said about him than he says himself. Probably the best speech is when Cratchit says [of Tiny Tim], “He told me he hopes the people in the church saw him because he was a cripple, and it might give them pleasure on Christmas day to remember who made lame beggars walk and blind men see.”

Beyond A Christmas Carol, I understand you have a new collection of plays being published.

Right. These are plays that I wrote in 1979 and 1980 in Pennsylvania. Three Mile Island had erupted, and I joined a street theater group. Then when the summer of demonstrations ended, I found that I really enjoyed playwriting and wanted to keep on. So I wrote a play making the point that Christmas and the Winter Solstice are really kind of the same. Then I thought it would be cool to do this with all eight solar festivals. I wrote another short play for Spring Equinox, and then a longer play for May Day and a sequel for Summer Solstice, and so on. In all, three one-acts and four full-lengths. But I’ve not had them published till now. There’s a group that publishes scripts here in Hampton Roads. It’s called havescripts.com. Bob Arthur [local director, actor and poet] is also publishing a book of my poetry. He has his own press. So a lot is happening. It’s a good thing I moved down here!