Recently I encountered a terrific bit of advice: "The best ideas come as jokes. Make your thinking as funny as possible." My costume did, in fact, come from a bit of backstage joking--the idea that my character Violet, having been zapped by Martian rays in this show, would return in the sequel with superpowers. We dubbed this character UltraViolet.
So I set about making an UltraViolet mask. I used papier-mâché, with tissue paper cut into small squares and rectangles, nothing any bigger than about 1" x 2". Tissue paper is great because it lets you create a smooth, almost slick surface, and it's relatively easy to manipulate into the sharp lines and creases you want for a 1950s-style superhero mask.
Tissue paper also leaves you with a good paintable surface, and the product is lightweight--which you want if you're going to have it on your head all night. Manipulating it is a bit like baking with phyllo: you tear it at first, and get little pulpy corners stuck to your fingers, and then you get the hang of it and you can shape it into anything.
For the paste I used the standard mix of one part flour to two parts water, with a few tablespoons of salt to prevent mold from growing on the layered paper. Chicago has been so humid lately that mold prevention was not optional. At several stages I also had to pop the mask into a 250-degree oven for a while; otherwise it took days to dry.
In the show, all the teenage characters drove cars (which Ira Amyx cleverly designed of painted, sculpted foamcore, with handles on the back so we could "drive" around the stage). Violet's Buick had a V-shaped hood ornament.
I decided to use the V as a design element of the costume--the brow of the mask and a weapon-ish detail on the wrist cuffs. The V shape would need an armature for support. I created armatures by cutting long triangles out of index cards and creasing them lengthwise. I had to hold the two halves of each V together with masking tape, but layers of papier-mâché were enough to attach the Vs to the mask and the cuffs.
The base for the wrist cuffs was a very low-tech and low-budget toilet paper tube, cut lengthwise on one side so I could just pop the cuffs on and off. I ran out of time here--the cuffs would have been stronger and stayed on better if I'd added a few more layers of papier-mâché to the tubes. Instead, they got bent pretty easily, and by the end of the night I had to use double-sided tape to attach them.
After the mask came out of its last session in the oven (incidentally, there are few things more Eleanor Rigby-esque than removing a replica of your own face from a kitchen appliance), I used an X-acto knife to smooth out the edges. Then I painted the mask with acrylics. Just as we did in the commedia mask intensive, I added some highlights and lowlights to keep the features from getting lost in a uniform sea of color.
I had planned to attach the mask with elastic, but time was running out. And I thought about the look I was going for--more or less a cross between Silver Age comics and Adam West-era Batman--and it was decidedly elastic-free. I opted just to stick the thing on with a combination of spirit gum and double-sided tape.
Of course, the way it always works when you have a good idea, all the other elements just fell into place. I borrowed a purple corset from my friend Kate. I already had dance shorts, as well as a purple maxi dress with a halter tie, which is all you need for a killer cape. I spent a whole $1.50 on purple stretch gloves at Target. I already had purple star tights and ankle boots, because...well, I don't really like to buy boring clothes.
I'd love to do this for a show. It's ridiculously fun. And can you imagine being involved with a show that needed this sort of thing?
