A Holiday Fling by Mary Jo Putney

the BBC that you deserve a piece of their budget."
    Ken also stood. "I’ll go home for my sound equipment and meet you at the barn."
    After thanking the Lymes for their hospitality, Greg and Jenny collected their coats and left. By the time they reached the tithe barn, the building was teeming with cast members. A flock of cherubs, ridiculously cute in white robes and gilded wings, galloped by as Greg extricated young Sean from a group of dancers and enlisted him for the evening’s shooting.
    As Greg explained to Sean what was needed, Jenny marched up the steps onto the stage. "The tithe barn is on thin ice, my friends," she said in a carrying voice, "so tonight we have to do a cracking good job."
    Swiftly she outlined the situation with a passion that would have inspired soldiers on the eve of battle. By the time she finished speaking, all of the actors, singers, dancers, and musicians were poised for their best work.
    Within half an hour they were set to go, microphones in place and two cameras ready to record the performance. The next hours were a blur of motion and music. When possible, Greg loved to work fast and capture the spontaneity that was hard to maintain in multiple takes. In this case, he also wanted the action to be as uninterrupted as possible so that the performers could get the benefit of their dress rehearsal.
    The show began with the children singing, "Oh, come, oh, come, Emmanuel," as they walked through the darkened theater, each carrying a candle and watched like a hawk by Patricia to see that they didn’t set themselves on fire. The kids, as expected, were adorable, and they sang like crystal bells. With the lights low and the candles illuminating earnest young faces, the procession captured the eternal magic of the season.
    As the story unfolded, the performers outdid themselves. The mixture of professionals and experienced amateurs put on a musical spectacular worthy of London’s famous West End theaters. Sir George, the future saint, was played by an opera tenor, the Turkish physician was a famous Welsh stage actor, and Jenny as Lady Molly proved to be a first-rate singer with a rich voice that filled every corner of the barn.
    Fiercely concentrating, Greg entered the altered state where he was no longer consciously aware of his movements, his whole body responding instinctively to what his eyes saw. A pan across the bright faces of the singing cherubs, yes . Pull back and up to capture the wild energy of the horn dancers. Descend to shoot the ponderous, glittering dragon as the beast slew the knight. A poignant shot of the fallen warrior.
    And always Jenny, first as the saucy narrator who set the stage for the show, later as Lady Molly weeping over the body of her sweetheart. The camera loved her, caressing her expressive face and supple body as she became a woman of another time.
    Enter the Turkish physician in his Eastern robes, and with a stage presence that had knocked London theatergoers dead for decades. The slain knight was revived, the lovers reunited, and the resurrection theme was expanded into a touching Nativity scene.
    At the end, as Greg slowly pulled the camera back and up, the whole cast sang "Go, Tell It on the Mountain," the American spiritual somehow perfectly right. Adults, children, dancers, musicians, and even the dragon were united in peace and harmony. Damn, these people were good.
    As the cast dissolved into post-performance chatter, relief, and analysis, Greg leaned against the wall, almost dizzy now that shooting was over. Having made her comments and compliments to her cast, Jenny slipped away to join him, her face flushed with a performer’s high even though she had removed her makeup. "Was that as good as I thought it was?"
    He nodded. "Better. More takes and angles and a wider range of zoom shots would have been nice, but we have what we need to shop the show."
    Sean appeared, looking awed. "That was bloomin’ marvelous! Better than a year’s worth of course