Ladies, let us all take a moment, bow our heads in silence, and say a prayer of thanks to whatever god invented the bra. I am now certain that the corset was surely designed by the devil. Evil, awful, dreadful thing.
No wonder Victorian ladies were always fainting, I’m telling you, you CANNOT BREATHE in these damn things.
When an actor cannot breathe, an actor cannot speak properly. Your ribs get very sore because there’s no room for them to expand, but by design and habit, the poor little things just keep trying their darndest to push out against the evil boning of the corset. You then require very painful sessions with the massage therapist who does her best to restore some movement and suppleness to the diaphragm by jamming her fingers up and under your ribcage. Ouch.
Okay, I complain, but actually, I’m thrilled with everything about this show, and I’m pretty sure I still have the best job in the world. Look at how awesome my wig turned out!