Wow, that’s a good question. I don’t know. We had so much chemistry the first time we met that we hated each other. It wasn’t real hate. It wasn’t like Michael Littlefield’s. —Siobhan Curran, Newsline Mr. Cleese, alone onstage beneath the white glare of the overhead lights, stood before the half-finished set. He hooded his eyes with his hand to see the cast and crew scattered in the first few rows of the house. “After a two and a half weeks of grueling rehearsals, I can say with confidence that this production is finally shaping into something I’m sure Mr. Tennessee Williams would be quite thrilled to see, were he alive to join us. Not only have our players learned their lines and blocking, most of them have managed to show up on time every day.” David Kent, Ann Lewis, and two prop masters glanced at Michael, the offender Mr.
