The first scene, a timekiller designed to let fidgeters subside and
coughers finish their coughing, was a 3-D projection of Times Square,
with a stylized suggestion of a public relations consultant's office
"down in one" on the apron.
When Caesar entered Orsino started, and there was a gratified murmur
around the auditorium. He was made up as French Letour, one of the
Mobsters from the old days--technically a hero, but one who had sailed
mighty close to the wind. This promised to be interesting.
"Peace, ho! Caesar speaks."
And so to the apron where the soothsayer--public relations
consultant--delivered the warning contemptuously ignored by
Letour-Caesar, and the spotlight shifted to Cassius and Brutus for their
long, foreboding dialogue. Brutus' back was to the audience when it
started; he gradually turned--
"What means this shouting? I do fear the people will choose Caesar for
their king!"
And you saw that Brutus was Falcaro--old Amadeo Falcaro himself, with
the beard and hawk nose and eyebrows.
Well, let's see now. It must be some kind of tortured analogy with the
Treaty of Las Vegas when Letour made a strong bid to unite Mob and
Syndic and Falcaro had fought against anything but a short-term,
strictly military alliance. Charles felt kind of sore about Falcaro not
getting the title role, but he had to admit that Tremaine played Falcaro
as the gutsy magnifico he had been. When Caesar re-entered, the contrast
became clear; Caesar-Letour was a fidgety, fear-ridden man. The rest of
the conspirators brought on through Act One turned out to be good
fellows all, fresh and hearty; Charles guessed everything was all right
and he wished he could grab a nap. But Cassius was saying:
"Him and his worth and our great need of him--"
All very loyal, Charles thought, smothering a yawn. A life for the
Syndic and all that, but a high-brow version. Polite and dignified, like
a pavanne at Roseland. Sometimes--after, say, a near miss on the polo
field--he would wonder how polite and dignified the great old days
actually had been. Amadeo Falcaro's Third Year Purge must have been an
affair of blood and guts. Two thousand shot in three days, the history
books said, adding hastily that the purged were unreconstructed,
unreconstructable thugs whose usefulness was past, who couldn't realize
that the job ahead was construction and organization.
* * * * *
And Halloran was touching Charles on the shoulder. "Intermission in a
second, sir."
They marched up the aisle as the curtain fell to applause and the rest
of the audience began to rise. Then the impossible happened.
Halloran had gone first; Charles was behind him, with the four other
guards hemming him in. As Halloran reached the door to the lobby at the
top of the aisle, he turned to face Charles and performed an
inexplicable pantomime. It was quite one second before Charles realized
that Halloran was tugging at his gun, stuck in the holster.
The guard to the left of Charles softly said: "Jesus!" and threw himself
at Halloran as the chief guard's gun came loose. There was a .45 caliber
roar, muffled. There was another that crashed, unmuffled, a yard from
Charles' right ear. The two figures at the head of the aisle collapsed
limply and the audience began to shriek. Somebody with a very loud voice
roared: "Keep calm! It's all part of the play! Don't get panicky! It's
part of the play!"
The man who was roaring moved up to the aisle door, fell silent, saw
and smelled the blood and fainted.
A woman began to pound the guard on Charles' right with her fists,
yelling: "What did you do to my husband? You shot my husband!" She meant
the man who had fainted; Charles peeled her off the bodyguard.
Somehow they got into the lobby, followed by most of the audience. The
three bodyguards held them at bay. Charles found he was deaf in his
right ear and supposed it was temporary. Least of his worries. Halloran
had taken a shot at him. The guard named Weltfisch had intercepted it.
The guard named Donnel had shot Halloran down.